Untitled Uterus - Lindsey Neal
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Nightsong
-Stephanie Chen
He knows
the net is illusory
and those who mean well,
are dangerous.
they are blind
so he falls further
they will shudder and turn away,
wonder why he gorges on
the dark underbelly of lost days
glassy memory:
he has been caught before—
examined, like a bug!
Kafkaesque casualty he will not be
no, he sets the grasshoppers free
Gently
on the desk of the girl he fancies.
They are mixing paint in art class,
color wheels.
everyone careful, pretty lines
hers are unkempt in messy
savage disaster but done tenderly
as she glares down:
drip drip tragedy
They could run off together, he thinks
and scribbles this down on his hand.
He is writing a novel
but no one can see.
They will feel threatened,
strip him
of his dream's embrace
Sleepless nights spent
in hermetic daze, creating
this pure, transparent thing
that cannot be questioned, analyzed
may lead only to this:
clouded eyes.
They will believe him to be a complete fraud.
So, maybe he is.
Daybreak shivers,
bursts into his cloistered thoughts,
like wild song, throbbing.
Doesn't everything rest on the awareness
that a hidden life exists?
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