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Somehow we’re now Harold Lloyd/Jackie Chan, letting go of the minute hand, dropping
ourselves right onto Magritte’s moving steam locomotive:

If we time it just right

I bet we could get it to
catch us,

dead on the
tailbone. Right between

the washout plugs
and whistle. Zero-
backspin earth

under us, itty bitty
clouds

all around us.



Duy Đoàn (zwē dwän) is the author of We Play a Game, winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize and a Lambda Literary Award. He received an MFA in poetry from Boston University. His second collection, Zombie Vomit Mad Libs, is forthcoming from Alice James Books, November 2024.
Current Issue
10 Aug 2026

the sleeping are so hard to distinguish / from the dead
We'd only lived in Arizona four years—it was our retirement place. But I'd died there, and she'd dumped my ashes out in the desert without fanfare, without any poem or prayer, unless you considered, “Jesus, Marty, don't leave me. Why'd you leave me, you old bastard" to be an elegy.
Nature, desecrated, refused to yield more than bone
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