Nic Larstanna

May 20, 2012

a thin
each step
reels for

takes the coils
and flattens

words can
still be

you can’t turn
every blade


dirtied blue
the rain

your calm
battered by

cut the ribbons
you must


I tried to cover you with myelin. Tried to strengthen your spirit. Your aura still faded like an old coat of paint. Long term potentiation only lasts so long. Gaps must have formed within. You sat there in a pile of red leaves. The dog in you howled, then ran out of breath.

Trees set ablaze in a forest of candles. A hawk soars away from the undone canopy. The signals tangled in the maze of the undergrowth. Nest netted in blackened branches, nestled in the smoke that suffocates recognition. A broken pathway fills the air.

I used to clutch for comfort; held tight to things that shatter. Surrounded myself with glass bottles filled with dole. One crack and shards would open wounds. My fists learned to release, but turned into eels. They glide along the ice. Synapses never quite touch.

Nic Larstanna is the author of four poems that were assigned for his Writing 100 class. He is currently a freshman at Boston University and is studying neuroscience. He is originally from New Jersey.