M. Hank

Each submission will be considered for the Tomorrow Project's awards, publication, and exhibits.

It's the little things at first, right?

Yes, I rather think so.

It always starts bright

The light reaching my eyes 

Only after the delay

You can't rule with an imaginary crown,

we left the real ones on the shelf in Great Britain,

hundreds of years ago.

We left to be free,

we the people would love to be free.

hushed murmurs, a squeaking chair

low mmms and ahhhs and snaps

and a poet standing dead center to begin dissection —the act of pulling out an intestine to test the color for ink

poetry is false

and i am fake, 

the world is spinning 

on an invisible axel

and i am screaming 

at the top of my lungs

out into darkness

with no one to hear me

her magenta marker

the silent clock

my desk, now darker

with dust like chalk.

his name in my phone

my swimming mind

his teeth were like moonstone, 

mouth open that night.