Three Poems
Wiliam Taylor Jr.
These days the dead feel / more alive than the living
In the years since my own trip, at 23, I’ve grown generally more wary of people. Have developed a much needed cynicism when it comes to random acts of generosity.
The nuclear fission that generated heat should not have been survivable after one hour.
The room is small and empty and unfamiliar. A pool of vomit in the corner. Cigarette butts ground into yellow carpet. What seem to be streaks of blood coat the walls. It looks like it smells like shit, but all he can smell is the piss in his costume.
These days the dead feel / more alive than the living
I was excited at the idea of killing a man, because I thought I really deserved it.
In winter, a year and a half ago, a patrol car escorted me to a shelter. I had just begun processing the dissolution of a ten-year relationship when I found myself unhoused. After my first night in the shelter, I woke to a text from my ex-girlfriend: you’ll thank me one day.
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
"I loved reading Exit, Carefully. It’s unusual, and in my opinion exciting, to publish a play without previously receiving a major production."
-Walker Caplan, Lithub