• Noah Dehli

He Was Petrified

i am a child of the scattered

of rhythms ricocheting off of storm drain grates;

he played to the sparking telephone lines, and ripped himself out of the power grid


the just on time, the almost alright, my mother’s pride (she doesn’t mind, and neither do i);

he tried to take an extra stride

to claw his way another mile through the prison he had built

and the paradise they had given to him


but i was still taken by the rock slide,

despite how i tried to stop depersonalizing;

he let the shale sweep him away and the chisel kept gouging


it was the earthquake i knew was coming but could not get away from;

he stayed under the doorframe holding on like you told him to,

until the pebbles turned to stones turned to boulders


i am a remnant of the shattered

crumbling eons consume me. i see medusa in my forearms and hands;

he begins to erode as the plates push him under


i take one last swallow, wrenching the dusty air into my heavy lungs as i sink through the concrete;

his shaking hands crack, and his torso bursts as his skin spiderwebs into empty canyons.

the memories of planet laden starry skies bear down on the pieces of him that are still big enough to recognize

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