Ganglion Summer.

 By Christine Aletti.

“Let lines spin out like cocaine cobwebs for the entire universe to inhale asymmetry…”

Drift Time I by David Drain.

to R, my twin


If this night sky is pulled down,

oncoming headlights like stars bursting

towards us on the indigo highway,

I will halt in the crosswalk

just to be hit with light. You, keep on going.

Disco balls and vials are loose change

in my pockets, memories of darkness

and debauchery spotted with glitter, loosening

into the street. I read somewhere that the solar

plexus houses attachment and the banana

spider’s web can stop a bullet, so maybe

letting go isn’t all that difficult—

I just need to remove my vest.

Let lines spin out like cocaine cobwebs

for the entire universe to inhale asymmetry,

suspend nonlinear plots between the rooftops

while the characters of our calves intertwine

in the hammock. If a cell could stop from splitting

into shade and glare, maybe I could

split from stopping you and me,

collect this nervous change into

a ganglion bundle labeled summer,

lob it upwards at that sheath of stars.

I’m ready to cleave from New York City.

I’m ready to hear the skyline whistle

as our combat boots muscle away.

The Blood Pudding – December 21, 2020

Christine Aletti has an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. Most recently, her work has appeared in The Bookends Review, The Garfield Lake Review, and Crack the Spine. A native New Yorker, she now lives in Colorado with her little dog.

Artwork: David Drain is an artist from the Southern Uplands, Scotland. He is fascinated by the subtle interplay of natural light. His surroundings of ruins of abandoned factories and ancient stone buildings, with their fascinating storied surfaces, crumbling structures, subtle shades of old walls and aged wood, patina and rust have all proved sources of lasting inspiration. You can find him and buy his work here.