I spoke to you of dirt

and broken thumbnails, of salt

in tears and potholes.

I spoke of popcorn

ceilings with sticky sheets



You spoke to me of stars

and aether currents, of birds

on radio airwaves.

You spoke of treetop

houses with telescopes

to the sky.



The Electronic Age


We drove by dark   and planet deities

Riding the road   chasing down reason

Like some great thing.


We captured the sun   in a fiberglass bottle

An electric ambrosia consuming sins

Like gods.






I think my drinking days are catching up

with me, the old man said and poured

more whiskey in his coffee pot.


The man shook. Under his feet

the cat lapped blood

off the floor.


The old man saw the stars of hell

hanging from the ceiling, sucking

out the color

from his hair.


Another week, another one to spill

into the kitchen sink, another

sacrifice to fight the stars

and pool under the floorboards

for the cat to drink.


by Nicole Kurlich


Nicole Kurlich is a student from Northeast Ohio. She is currently pursuing an Associate of Arts degree at Lakeland Community College.

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