Notes from Underground: Revisited Reflections

And I wish you never made love to me like you wanted to breathe me in like air, gulping me like milk dripping from strands of hair. Whatever. I don’t really care. Today I only taste those nights in New England on MBTA trains in autumn. The Providence to Boston line in November, when especially cold, is one of the only times I remember that train filled with the excitement of youth. You. You see, unfortunately, you are the first Great Depression. I don’t know how to write fiction because of you and for that I want to commend […]

Notes from Underground: Revisited Reflections2017-12-15T20:26:41+00:00

Interstate 77

By Johnathan McCauley


I fell asleep

at the wheel

once, on my

way north to Pittsburgh.

Easily lulled

into dreams

by and of

the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Car horns blared from the

other lane

along with

sounds of metal

grinding against rock

my chest thrown

and yanked back

by the seat belt.

One hundred foot drop.

I plunged toward

the rocky

Whitestick Creek bed.

Yelling up nothing.

Clenching hands.


Interstate 772017-12-15T20:24:33+00:00
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