sinks like lead

it’s cold tonight
and the heart of the concrete
is growing unsteady
it accepts the autumn
I still can’t

where I have failed
it has succeeded
she still drives
her small blue bug
pistons exploding

pistons exploding
she rips out
another jaundice yellow
pack of cigarettes
flips a lucky
and lights it in stagnant air
and smokes
until the wings
of the bird
are charred to the filter
and grinded into the concrete

I know
I am no longer stable enough
that you cannot handle the trauma
but living
like I’m dying
like I’m slowly wasting
is something I can no longer do

but where I have failed
where your brother has failed
where my mind has failed
you will not

by Austin Cunningham

Return to Issue 44