by Dean Young

How could I not?

Have seen a man walk up to a piano

and both survive.

Have turned the exterminator away.

Seen lipstick on a wine glass not shatter the wine.

Seen rainbows in puddles.

Been recognized by stray dogs.

I believe reality is approximately 65% if.

All rivers are full of sky.

Waterfalls are in the mind.

We all come from slime.

Even alpacas.

I believe we’re surrounded by crystals.

Not just Alexander Vvedensky.

Maybe dysentery, maybe a guard’s bullet did him in.



I believe there are many kingdoms left.

The Declaration of Independence was written with a feather.

A single gem has throbbed in my chest my whole life

even though

even though this is my second heart.

Because the first failed,

such was its opportunity.

Was cut out in pieces and incinerated.

I asked.

And so was denied the chance to regard my own heart

in a jar.

Strange tangled imp.

Wee sleekit in red brambles.

You know what it feels like to hold

a burning piece of paper, maybe even

trying to read it as the flames get close

to your fingers until all you’re holding

is a curl of ash by its white ear tip

yet the words still hover in the air?

That’s how I feel now.

Image Credit: Igor Morski

art :: Igor Morski


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