Contributor: James Diaz

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A plummet to the bottom
safe in there
thrashing and casting net
into fire

when are you coming home?
A toothless old man
stole my car
I don't own
a single thing
say it like you mean it
I want to sing to this piece of bark
until my eyes bug out

until
the world weeps at the sight of its own shadow
and we've settled our debts
toasting bathtub wine in paper cups
with our airplane glue hearts stuck to the floor

a high life low lived
irreversible tomorrow
happening to bend
as we wake.


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James Diaz lives in Upstate New York. His stories and poems have appeared in Cheap Pop Lit, Ditch, Pismire and Collective Exile.