Dylan Newitt Allen
Raised in Erwin, NC, Dylan Newitt Allen received his BFA from East Carolina University, where he served as an intern for the North Carolina Literary Review (NCLR). He enjoys connecting with other writers through social media and advocating their work.
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Check out Volume 6, Issue 1 of The Lookout.
It is summer, and the days drag by like
a midnight sun while the background world
burns beneath a magnifying glass
for an atmosphere.
Who knew that orange over yellow
could be so cruel? A tangerine eye
unblinking, following me everywhere
I go, broken by my shape, a shadow.
Life is oil separated from water,
floating but not absorbed, and there
are moments where the sea
outside my window becomes too real.
Besmeared with dead salt,
I traverse asphalt and melt like wax;
the copper streams in the belly
of my arm boil as if they are mercury.
In retrograde, I slip away from who
I am: an echo within an echo
within an echo, a copy of a copy,
smoldering like a Polaroid.
My hands, my lungs, my body
betrays itself, giving into the deadly torch
sparked by a match, a slow ember
blackening me, cyclones release
as I inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale –
in hell, I count candles and watch
the propeller above me spin,
and in my clothing, I am a house on fire.