the aeroplane passed another universe
on the way to Florida, of
all places.

two of them, actually,
stomach to stomach and barely
touching, a stripe of blue peeking
between the portals. swelling and
waning, like puffed cheeks, a volatile
swarm of clouds sweeping around–

a great ball of gas suspended
between them. the pilot
didn’t turn the nose of the plane
and so we passed right by
our other selves,

with no goodbyes, no greetings.


step into her and
let the cold-bright sear you
back together, fall onto the
glittering edge and fling
you into the blade.
you have been leaking lately,
leaking her, cheeks covered and
pores choking with salt so let her
slap your lines into a new form
like a potter jabs new life
out of sandy clay, let her waving
break you open, rush over your head
and over your head and spine and over again

let her crack you and sweep out your
heart onto the shore, leave your joints and veins
and sockets covered in sodium so
that you will burn yellow-green, will-o-wisp
amorphous and flittering
when it all lights you aflame,
beating life cocooned in sand and fired
sea glass as you steam and sizzle

A sacrifice to a better sunrise

Ashley Sullivan is a twenty-four-year-old graduate student that is currently a Master’s candidate for Clinical Mental Health Counseling, and balancing pursuing a career in poetry while also trying to balance real-life ‘adult’ responsibilities. They are recently relocated to Long Island, which gives them an excellent opportunity to start exploring the shores and roadways of the island.

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