We take for granted the hinges that guide us to the next room Something my dad once said Go back now No that’s not what he said he said Lean into the gravity of what you choose Become the bend the crux a small ‘v’ managed by the mind that can’t be touched in some decent manner, that little change demands explanation —once you pass through you lose the piece holding the puzzle in a recognizable form We all keep demons Some happen to resemble a buck-toothed jack-o’-lantern Yes That’s what my father said You resemble a buck-toothed jack-o’-lantern.
Nick Visconti is a writer, a server, and a cat dad. Originally from Albuquerque, he lives in Brooklyn with another artist. He is an MFA candidate writing poetry at Columbia University.
Featured artwork: Wilt Alan Alvarez shares: “words are like a medication/drug in the way that they have emotional and physical side effects".