Poetry by J.C. Rodriguez
I sip something cool staring at the concrete moon
it doesn’t move. it doesn’t spin. it doesn’t glow.
you still occupy a small untouched lot in my head
in a little car you left back at home, burning tires
on the surface of this moon, doing donuts on the axis
as you drive infinite eights and circles, the exhaust
breathes a cloudy vortex around me, and I inhale
the residue of what I imagine to be soul – it soothes.
but I cough it out and gag, in refusal. a need to solidify
my own importance in your universe – is why you remain
a smoky satellite in my head’s orbit. or is it because you
keep doing donuts around the moon that encases
my chest and pulls my brain – that I can’t remove you?
About the Poet
J.C. Rodriguez a writer and educator from New York. He spends most of his time thinking about rent, the stars, and regrettable texts – in that order. His work has been previously featured on The Coast and Secret Lovers Small Press, and he is currently working on getting his Masters in Social Work.
Vita Brevis Press 
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