Issue 8,  Poetry

Racing a Fever Dream for Pinks by E. Samples

Maybe I should consult the devil.

Maybe I should embrace world-revving
nightshade sonnets until cloven
harmonies etch fountain pen rhythms
up and down my spine.

Maybe I should appreciate unaccomplished blank space;
Ride the empty page instead of enslaving meter and phrase.
Maybe I should idle-out, back to the ground and exhaust 
the weight of symbols and how to choose.

I don’t know every blind curve and narrow 
but I can dare the dull blade and stare it down;
Ransom sanity for a moon, not quiet yet full,
and cut spills in a southerly cloud current 
slick-tinged with oil-fired flood tide.

Do I really need
future imperatives, perfect execution,
professional beats, lines, numbered
Do I really need

There is a tightness in my jaw that tells me 
there is so much left to do.
But the devil doesn’t plan ahead
or clinch teeth at night.
The devil smiles and says: Fear not.

Maybe I should stoke bloodcurdling reveries,
jump the cliff and slipstream pitch-black miles;
Demolish each word that binds my Shadow Self.
Maybe I should hand over the keys 
and ride shotgun awhile.


E. Samples was born and raised in Appalachia and currently lives in Southern Indiana. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Vamp Cat Mag, fws: a journal of literature & art, Black Bough Poetry, The Stillwater Review, and The Honest Ulsterman. She is on Twitter @emilysamples and Instagram @eesamples

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