Poems from Megan Collins
When they pound on the glass,I know they're with me, but I can't
stay, in the small corner, in the back
seat, inside the radio I've fucked...
In the race to the topthere are those who are forgotten,and we feel the shimmer of a risingflame, it floats through the galaxyleaving us...
Have you ever felt dead
in the water, floating nicely
with both your ears flooding,
full with little sound, justwhat's not supposed to be...
Subsistence isn't in thefire it's in the ashes, and
the leaves left in the dirtblown off of trees are ourvictories, the sun says...
There are fields for the deadand fields for the dying and fieldsfor children, who don't know howmuch hurt they swallow with theirmilk it's...