Every day, I throw a square pink quasar into a black hole; my personality vanishes, collapses on itself; a star erupts. Heaven-headed, I slowly become charming, cheery, a patient grownup. Run a movie in reverse of a mirror cracking up. Side effects include: sexless love, tactile dreams, the urge to write poetry frequently; if you hear angels, seek medical help immediately, as these may be signs of a serious astro-literary disorder.

Nick D'Annunzio Jones is a poet in Seattle. In previous lives, he has been a media and politics lecturer at the University of Technology in Sydney, Australia; a Zen Buddhist chaplain’s assistant in a South Florida prison; a New York Times reporter and a Wall Street speechwriter. His poems have been published in or are forthcoming from Treehouse, Monarch Review, Evergreen Review, Gargoyle, the Rio Grande Review and numerous other journals in the United States and abroad. He earned an MFA from the University of California at Riverside, an experience he loathed.