By Anthony Palma


All you see are the lights,

starfire ground into dust,

dimming and sharpening like pencils

until they are little but pinpricks,

a terrestrial star chart.

They are the spaces we forget,

the front porch light left on,

the street lamp guarding our slumber


On the highways they mark cars,

photons passing in and out of phase

on their way to work.

The dark spots are where we exist,

the rows of houses where people dream

of one day leaving their row of houses.

At this height

Some things are unrecognizable.

Is that a baseball diamond?

No, it’s just a parking lot,

empty at 5 AM.

Sooner or later,

we all are nothing but negative spaces.

We are flying west.

The new day creeps towards

us like a stormfront.

Anthony Palma’s work attempts to bridge the gap between poetry and other forms while addressing issues of social justice. His performances blend poetry with elements of music. His work has appeared in Rue Scribe (upcoming), Whirlwind Magazine, Oddball Magazine, and Harbinger Asylum, among others. He teaches writing at several universities in the Greater Philadelphia area. He resides in West Chester, PA with his wife and family. For more info, 

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