Between Sentences

by Max Gilman '25 on January 29, 2023
Portfolio Co-Editor


and those black stitches searing the head. 

And; because I didn’t say the first thing on my mind. 

Is it 

better to die averse, 

than live as proof to another? 

Another, because One is predecessor 

to Nothing. 

Alone, a metal table under burning light, 

tall menial men draping scrubs 

with silver rods picking the brain— 

And she is watching from a distance, 

breaking her vow to quit cigarettes. 

 and i yell.            Loud. 

    but all ever i do is  

                   leave; wordless. 

Like the surface mirror, I only share 

A quarter of what I feel 

And anger is like my father— 

 consuming my habits like a screeching storm. 

And: the subsequent to change.  

I am change, 

or at least I must be. 

Aren’t we all the seasons? 

doubt, redress, time repressed, 

purple today, emerald tomorrow  

Are we all not blind  

for someone to follow? 

and she finally quit 

the cancer sticks, 

    and my head  

    heals pinkish limp, 

But years like money only matter in moments. 

And i must change or fodder fortune, 

Wilting the womb,

nameless conception presented 

to gates of Hell;  

saturated we, stare at pennies like minutes, 

appointing our fingers the heir to judgment, 

scions of  




And I am nothing. No more than the day. 

And between words exists the only emotion we have ever known,