Poem by Julia Lisella
When should we run? After we have locked the door?
When should we run? After we have locked the door?
Is this all there is to life? Will I never feel anything grander?
No creature wants such beauty, such attention.
I know now what a smiley face can do, and I exercise it judiciously.
Often, I try to tilt my chin up to look her smack in the eye.
We wanted to make a good impression. Maybe even to launch a conversation.
Where does meaning lurk in a universe where mountains are mangy from fires and logging?
'No, no, no,' said C, 'this dude cannot paint a lady.'
I would be a day. I’d run around after myself. I would cohere.
I imagine this boat tattooed: the engraved wings reaching in each direction, indicating those early sea voyages.