Six Poems Steve McCown On Visiting an Ex-Drama Student in Jail The yellow brick road you starred on ends here: in a six by eight-foot cell. I won’t lecture you; you are beyond that now. Nor will I say that jail time is like class time as others have said. In these endless hallways I am a stranger myself, ignorant and scared. I only know that your monkeys are descending, tearing apart your vital stuffing, and flinging it over unknown fields. You have set yourself on fire, and each piece of your sand peers out of a clogged hour glass, building up slowly inside until the upper half threatens to break. Let it flow freely again, in your time, on your watch, beyond this dark castle.
The Glue Sniffers We heard them first, like bellows slowly worked, fanning dying embers or iron lungs compressing and expelling regulated air.
10 Summer 2018
