By Tanner Boyle
Or so I have learned tonight clutching violet flowers
And kickboxing my sterile, non-existent slender enemy.
Oh loaf of Kevlar, oh gnarled metallic tree of hope,
Don’t let me sink away into the sleek, silent chrysalis,
Be my lover, be my salvation, be my primal instinct—
Be the categorical pathway to all of the above.
Tanner Boyle is a writer from Winfield, Kansas currently studying English and film at Washington University in St. Louis. His work has appeared in Spires Intercollegiate Literary Magazine, Nervous Horse, Thought Catalog, and The Abstract Quill. He has been on an urban exploration kick for a few weeks now.