{"componentChunkName":"component---src-templates-post-js","path":"/6-30-26","result":{"data":{"contentfulPost":{"title":"Lua","body":{"json":{"data":{},"content":[{"data":{},"content":[{"data":{},"marks":[],"value":"I gathered all the evidence I exist\nand brought it to the DMV. You exist!\nThey said, and then revoked my driving\nprivileges. I blew it off, went to a museum\nand stood in front of a crystal as tall as me,\nthinking of the wind or the river, that gutted\nit into its shape, whistling through caves\nsomewhere in Idaho, or the badlands\nof North Dakota. I was only okay\nat skeet shooting the one time I went\nin Oregon. I kept asking everyone:\n","nodeType":"text"},{"data":{},"marks":[{"type":"italic"}],"value":"what are these little orange things,\nand why do we want to kill them?","nodeType":"text"},{"data":{},"marks":[],"value":"\nPeople laughed, but I’m sick\nof myself, or sick of making jokes\nto cut through the bitterness of winter.\nI went to Coney Island and listened\nto the screams from the roller coaster\nwhile I stared at the Atlantic.\nI want to tell you about the time\nI wrecked my car to my favorite\nMac Miller song, the sky was twinkling\nyellow with smog, the same shade as the album\ncover. Poems are a psychedelic thing,\nthey move in the shape of a river\nor with the lyricism of a song,\nit’s so embarrassing, but someone has got\nto do it. Once I looked after a small grey dog\nnamed after the saddest song I know.\n","nodeType":"text"},{"data":{},"marks":[{"type":"italic"}],"value":"Lua","nodeType":"text"},{"data":{},"marks":[],"value":" I said. ","nodeType":"text"},{"data":{},"marks":[{"type":"italic"}],"value":"Lua only bite my enemies, please.","nodeType":"text"},{"data":{},"marks":[],"value":"\nTale as old as time: poet full of anger\nlike an overstuffed Piñata, beating\nand beating at himself with a bat.\nRemember when we drove to the beach\nin the middle of the night because we needed\nto remember the coast's thinning hairline, the trees\nburned back at the scalp, and we almost hit a coyote\nbut missed it by a few feet. I turned on the speaker,\nit wasn’t Mac Miller. Not yet. I don’t want to\nget to the part where my blue car crumbles like a wave.","nodeType":"text"}],"nodeType":"paragraph"}],"nodeType":"document"}},"author":"Lane Devers","type":"6-30-26","nextTitleAndAuthor":"\"Waiting on a Dream\" by Tara Manshon","nextSlug":"/6-23-26","bio":{"json":{"data":{},"content":[{"data":{},"content":[{"data":{},"marks":[],"value":"Lane Devers' work has appeared in places like The Offing, Peatsmoke Journal, and The New Ohio Review. He is an MFA candidate at Columbia University. ","nodeType":"text"}],"nodeType":"paragraph"}],"nodeType":"document"}}}},"pageContext":{"slug":"/6-30-26"}}}