Dylan Zucati

Pre-Lactoise Soy Milk

I draw my tongue from its sheath like a child drawing rainbows in the dirt of a baseball diamond, drool drawing from her mouth, spelling her name onto her brand new uniform.

My metaphors are rusty

I stretch a muscle riddled with bed soars

Mismatched words matchmissed together to draw a map back to my voice

Screaming from beneath a bog of anxiety and self loathing.

Black ooze bubbles ascending as great unheard choirs



"Pre-lactoise soy milk"

Nonsense for nothingness blooming from my lips as I suffocate to the tune of pre-K

T-ball memories previously buried in a brain corner reserved for forgetting.

I can't breath but when I speak so I'm must do it loud.

I draw my tongue with great effort from the well of my imagination



That when I reach the end of my rope

I'll find that voice.

Clear as a crystal the color of sky

Not sky we see

Sky felt

Tearing my arms to see my throat I succeed in digging up my deep wealth

What greets me is not clean or pretty or particularly good

It is alive

That's better than most


Porcelain Fire Hydrant