Evan Turissini, Bucknell University

You’ve got to be the most curious patron we’ve ever had, she said,
as we sat, gazing into the tiled ceiling. We watched the stars above
flicker on and off as the cosmic visitors to Grand Central Station
cascaded above us with laser-like intent. We whispered broken
Italian chants into the deep night and fell into love with the echoic
responses: Narcissuses (Narcissi?) on speed and ecstasy and self-
loathing because that’s the default setting of a tortured artist
in his torture chamber. And to that end, we popped pills at even

intervals. We took the blue and red and green and pink pills
and the ones that make you larger
and the ones that make you small
and the ones that don’t do anything at all
because Mother told us to take two a day, two a day, everyday
until we finally get the balls to move out. And the cosmic figures
raced faster and faster with a deistic depravity that excited our genitals.
We cried for more and more as they unknowingly danced above
our heads, shining an incognizant light of sensuality on our faces,
crisping our skin. We toasted in effigy–a simulacrum of Romeo &
Cleopatra, two mismatched lovers ripped from two different stories
sharing three special kisses: one rising, one breaking, one falling.

Evan Turissini is a junior at Bucknell University. He was last seen in England ruling the country Weekend-at-Bernie’s-style with David Cameron’s comatose body. He has been published in Right Hand Pointing, My Favorite Bullet, The Light Ekphrastic, and The First Day, among others.