c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


by David Thornbrugh

if you die first
I will be like that dog
I saw yesterday
clutching a stick
the size of a baseball bat
in its jaws
barely able to breathe
on the hottest day of the year
unable to sweat or pant
feet away from cool lake water

INSOMNIAC by Fabio Sassi

INSOMNIAC by Fabio Sassi

by Holly Day

breathe in, the sky grows dark—all the things you were before
fade and disappear
the treasured memories, the dreams
when did night stop being stars and moon and
lightning bugs and become only black? you were once
a man, remember, and not this shambling

hulk of rotting meat and blind eyes. Remember. you
exhale and it's a phlegmatic wheeze, full of spores
from all the other things dying inside of you, fungus
brackets the walls of your lungs, blooms bright, fiercely orange
you imagine your insides must be

beautiful now. inhale and it's useless, there's no reason
to breathe when you're already dead, all you need to know
is that the approaching lights ahead are torches of villagers. flames and
noise and all you see is red and real and this is your life. rending and tearing. forget.

exhale because you forget you have
no need to inhale, streams of steam and dreams
of lying back on satin sheets, alive again or perhaps just real once more, allowed to die
in a bed, on your bed, just like
everybody else.

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