If You Haven’t Figured It Out Yet You’re the Island

BY Alexander York

You’re actually a lot of things like the milk.
The lighter fluid. The tigers. You are exactly
the way you need to be. You’re the party,
but you’re also the punch, the squished cigarettes,
and the long drive home to Dayton, Ohio.

I think I’m the raft, the particle, the astronaut
left floating aimlessly in space. There’s so much
time here and I think there are hundreds of volcanoes
all over your body. I believe in your lava. I’m here until
I can’t swim anymore.

I say, this is a lot like reverse Pangaea.
You’re the avalanche I’m running from or you’re
the ground splitting between my legs, forcing me
to choose my left or right side. I think of how messy
this entire situation has become and the whole time
I wait for an angry mountain to put me out
of my misery.

The Women in Black

I go to the beach to see
the women in black.

They hold their
children tight.

I see them pointing
at the lake like
a deep painting.

If no one stops them,
they will walk

endlessly into
the water
like a funeral

march or
the saddest

parade
ever.

Ghost Ocean
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Alexander York is a writer originally from Ohio, but currently living in Chicago. Alexander would someday like to meet William H. Macy, but has accepted the fact that his Twitter is about as close as he’ll get. Alexander’s recent work can be found in Word Riot, Another Chicago Magazine, The Madison Review, The Oyez Review, and Dark Sky Magazine.