You dip your daffodil into my glass of champagne,
and I think about how you’d like to poison
every river, that layer of other floating
on the surface. You can find yourself in it—
pieces of what you remember, but didn’t
until now. An orbital mass of yesterdays,
a kitchen filled with smoke, or a television
housing a fast-paced shootout. I prefer
stars to explode, the common mass of them
spraying out through the body of space
like a cancer. There is no cure for loneliness.
Collect and collect the pieces you want,
but you’ll find them all divided so finely.
Gasping in the kitchen, palm- and lung-fuls.
Now there’s the taste of suffocating.
Now there’s the feeling of drowning.
The sight of fading, falling, from a surface.
Erin J. Mullikin is the author of two chapbooks: Strategies for the Bromidic (Dancing Girl Press) and After Milk & Song (SC Poetry Initiative). Her poems and book reviews have appeared in magazines such as Coldfront, BlazeVOX, GlitterPony, Spork, Birdfeast, and Beecher’s. She is the editor-in-chief for Salt Hill Journal and co-founder of the upcoming small literary press, Midnight City Books.
David Wojciechowski lives and dies in Syracuse, New York where he is a founding editor of Midnight City Books. His poems have appeared in Bateau, Better, iO, and Meridian among other places.