EVERY, Day — More bodies on the ground. No more funerals. Instead, the living make roads out of the deceased. The earth’s elevation grows. She isn’t scared to die; she is scared to be forgotten, thrown into the pile. She asks, “What happens to memories when consciousness fails?” Silence amplified her heartbeat. Each thud became past tense. She walked down the secular street. Scraped skulls on the soles of her shoes. Her stride no longer compelled her forward. Each step fossilized her closer to the end. She sprints. Stops. Sprinted. Stopped. She watches her breath fold the air.
Sam Campbell was once a professional football player in Germany. Originally from the suburbs of Chicago, Sam told a group of people he landed a back flip; he’s never actually tried. His poetry is forthcoming from Poetry City, USA, Zoomoozophone Review and Zerogreen Magazine and has appeared in Clockwise Cat, Bareback Lit, Misfits Miscellany, Breadcrumb Scabs, Full of Crow, Yes, Poetry, Kerouac’s Dog, Blinking Cursor, Negative Suck and others. He is an MFA candidate at Boise State University.