The Post and the Last Man
We were lying on our backs on the concrete throwing rocks at the ceiling, letting them fall back onto our bodies.
Carl was wincing but I let them fall on my face.
what are you trying to prove? that you’re
more of a man?
it’s for the moments in between the throws.
it doesn’t make a difference if you’re here or not.
A green rat emerged from industrial wreckage and scurried over us.
I hate this place, everyone is dead but us.
I think we’re the dead ones Carl, I said.
From the hole in the wall the cityscape was a gray debaser and nothing we could say would ever make it feel better.
Carl dragged his cigarette across his arm and didn’t feel any pain.
then why do you wince? I asked.
He just shrugged so I threw a rock at him. It went through his body like he wasn’t even there.
God is a guitar god
He said God split the clouds and reigned fire down over him
But the fire was blue and actually they were notes
And that God was the greatest musician ever
Even better than Clapton
Though maybe not Hendrix
And it was then that he really started to believe in God
Even though he said it wasn’t really God
Because he knew the whole time he had eaten a tab
Because he had done it on purpose
I said I’d never done it before
But I visited a jail once on a school field trip
And found Jesus there
He was locked in one of the cells hiding underneath a cot
And when we made eye contact he winked and
Slowly lifted his hand to his face
And then put his finger in front of his lips
As if to say
Bio: Zachary Solomon is a student of creative writing, currently spending a semester in sunny Norwich. He typically writes short stories but has been feeling dangerous as of late - dangerous enough for poetry. He enjoys smoky gold beverages, books about UFOs, and combinations of things. He´s looking forward to meeting you.