Rough-tongued Felicity
pulls the working world to the dirty curve of her gutter.
Beads sliding, raining, rattle.
Pulsing pounding sonar pulse,
chase absent afternoons.
Steal a kiss of gold-glow gloam,
morning eyes, silver light of flower’s dappled dew.
Score sleazy cheers along the streets,
while drunkards choke on faithful fuse.
Shut them up, weld it shut,
Earth-black feet scraped bloody on concrete.
Dreams fed will rise, brown, crack open
to rave with tongues that blister and burn.
Eat around the rot, the black spots,
Dirty fingers mashing apricots.
Dylan Thomas D’Alessandro is a senior at the University of Miami studying English and political science on the pre-law track. He loves exploring nature on foot or via sailboat near his home in Boston.
words_dylan thomas d’alessandro. illustration&design_jay moyer.
This article was published in Distraction’s Spring 2026 print issue.
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