- By Ryan Oliveira
Sliver

Lots of rejections,
lots of revelations
came from the woodwork last week
finally being written this week.
A sliver of grace is all he’ll get today.
Tomorrow comes a taller glass,
still empty, but waiting,
all airy, yet see-through,
from one end, another.
Upon the head, it smashes,
echoed like dodecahedrons
bleeding into mirror-pieces
that pelt at the drawing board.
This week, it’s the loony-bed,
stretched out on a cloud
where ocean blue is bull-shot,
slowing salt until it stops.
A sliver of space is all he asks today.
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