Dalton Day is from North Carolina, and always has been. He has hopped over many creek beds, cut his way through many thorn bushes, and stumbled through many fields of moonlight. He has never ridden in an airplane before, but he’s watched many birds, with fingers outstretched. Even though he can’t play the banjo, he wishes he could. You can find his work in Nib Magazine and Used Furniture Review. Visit his website.
The local tour guide believes in leather boots with wide toes. Sturdy soles. Protein for breakfast.
The young sailor said he would give me a modicum of love if I let him use my body as a harbor.
The ticket seller would prefer to meet the guests outside, order them shortest to tallest, take the most boisterous by the hand.
The skull-like villa lost / in a garden of dreams, / so seem the isle’s cimitero: ...
So here is the brief life / of men: what follows / went before of / that we know / nothing
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