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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.

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