• Editor

Onism -- poetry by Thomas Troso

I am confined by my rib cage,

My senses, my posture.

I aspire to be the cicada

Who crawls out of his skin

And cries–loudly.

My wetware is wired uniquely;

The cords of my neurons are stretched and pulled.

I wait for the day my hands walk

And my fingers unravel

To reveal the stone resting in the palm of my hand.

I take the stone to the lake

And sidearm it across the water.

As I watch it bounce off the calm surface,

I notice the moonlight distort in the ripples.


 

Thomas Troso is a high school student at Hackley School in Westchester, New York. He

has been repeatedly published in his school’s literary magazine, The Vision. This,

however, is his first professional publication.

10 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All