Nocturnal Issue IV | Page 47

Soft green

algaeic,

crawling

over a poured concrete floor. Sprawling,

stained with traces of human

hair, spit, skin,

now decaying

into mottled moss.

Into muddied

coffee ringed

carpet.

Flecks of blue start to surround me,

pouring over my head,

this terrible pressure.

I fear

I will sink under

the weight of it,

inhaling lint and ink

until my eyes gasping grasp

the print of a trainer

that might have been yours.

Probably not.

CARPET

CARPET — GRACE COHEN

THROUGH POETRY GRACE REFLECTS ON LIFE AND, BECAUSE SOMETIMES LESS IS MORE, TAKE FROM IT WHAT YOU WILL

by GRACE COHEN