by Dom Fonce

At first, and with little knowledge of life’s workings,
we twirled ourselves down hillsides just to see
the sky from the perspective of grass, and the spin
of rolly-pollies from the eyes of clouds.

Then we found love in purple lipstick,
and the glimpse of a little skin—tangled
together under bedsheets like strands of DNA.

Then we threw rocks at cars in a mist
of the Dead Kennedys and weed smoke,
wanting desperately to turn the world red.

Finally, we threw ourselves off cliffs in cars
that rattled like rat cages. We did so to knock back the choke
of rust and regret. We did so because we sucked
in more being than we could hold.

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Dom Fonce is a poet from Youngstown, Ohio. He is the Editor-in-Chief of the new literary magazine Volney Road Review. His poetry has been published in or is forthcoming in the Tishman Review, Obra/Artifact, Burning House Press, Black Rabbit Quarterly, Italian Americana, 3Elements Literary Review, Junto Magazine, Ohio’s Best Emerging Poets: An Anthology, and elsewhere. His Instagram is domfoncepoetry.