Boom Beach, Maine


Nolan Allan
︎ NOV 22, 2021


Gutted lanterns leak yellow

oil like the needy

urchins my hands

pulled from the ocean, torn

apart before you. Us: beachside,

sky: gray, you: empirically

observing the cold

wet pieces I threw aside after

they drew blood

from my hands, you watched

in mild disgust, or

love, little difference

to be had, and not

that it matters but

my hands can still feel

how it felt to crack us

open the echinoderm to reveal

the soft pentagram

shaped sexual organ I

carefully removed and without

bothering to wipe the viscera from

my hands I swallowed

it down in one gulp and smiled and thought

about one day eventually

when all the seas will

rise and accost our cities

and one day eventually the sun

will grow and accost

our planet and one day

eventually the moon will fall back into us

when it finally realizes nothing

has the answer, except the only dream I

ever remember: a man leaning before

a crumbling black marble dais

on an endless stage covered in thick fur rugs

all decorated with pale roses and bundled orchids

already dying, in need

of water he slumps and rages

on his people's behalf against

the forever night's encroaching

memorandums and as he reaches

his apex, his kid icarus

moment, he retches and liquid

the color of old growth forests

spills down his chin, deep dark

viscous stuff that pools and stains

the thick fur rugs that cover the endless stage

the crumbling black marble dais

sits upon, him prevailing, refusing

to clean off the ill humour, avocado skin

colored bile built inside his own body

without a care in the never lasting world

we tried to make together, though

in keeping with this being a dream, unctuous

petals emerge from the flowers maddeningly, stop

motionly, growing and falling and growing

again, they pile

they/themselves beautifully

across the crumbling black marble dais,

matrimonial traditions taken

to extremes the crowd couldn't've imagined,

the crowd: they feast on songbird

drowned in stale cognac and eaten

whole: guts, beak, face, everything, often

served with mushrooms quietly existing under pine

needles, haloed omelet color flesh

imbued with the stink of red

cinnamon candy left in the woods

for centuries, the way we used to

smell, and if you're reading

this, it's too late,

and if you're still reading this,

you're probably thinking like

wow, this is a really vivid dream

he had and I’d be like yes, it was

a really vivid dream

I am having, wow is right.

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Nolan Allan is an artist from North Carolina. His work has appeared in Peach Magazine, Prelude, Hazlitt, and many others. His chapbook ‘Mountain Dew’ was published by Bottlecap Press in 2017. He lives in a city near the woods and can be found online @nolanallan.