Sam Herschel Wein lives in Chicago and specializes in aimless frolicking. His chapbook, Fruit Mansion (Split Lip Press, 2017) was the winner of the 2016 Turnbuckle Chapbook prize. He is the poetry editor for The Blueshift Journal, and runs a new journal, Underblong, with his best friend, Chen Chen. Recent work can be found in Vinyl Poetry, Mojo, and Connotation Press, among others.





Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: The Inside Job/Exit Strategy


Sam Herschel Wein

All My Friends Are Dead: Non-Dinosaur Version

all my friends are guavas, succulent and sweet. all my friends are socialist nerds, spooning each other the seeds of long cucumbers none of my friends happy to sell their labor for some wealthy man’s profit my friends, all are my dying, not dead, limbo dog, jungle gym, monkey bars lower beneath the ball pit friends are all suicide ideation, 2AM ambulance calls, 11:30AM repeated talks with poison control, will they live? will they alive? will they a living? will I take my phone? cuz I’m in a meeting til 4 all my friends spit watermelon seeds so far I swear I thought this place would setup some competition for them all hate winning, my friends, tired of supposed competition, of systems that want only one of us to succeed, like we can’t all rise from the defunct fountain and swirl in turquoise wonder shooting all the way to the sky all my friends are. my are. friend oars. rowing me afloat. my friends glide, still breathing. plump, pump breathing some of my friends are dead. my friends, the reason I’m still breathing. my friends, we answer each other’s phone hearts. we pound stomachs we pump adrenaline we stack toiletries we stock old gin passed through each other’s freezers we rock the beat to death we rock each other to sleep all my friends are still here with me in my sheets. my friends, all tell me to do laundry but I refuse to let go of their smell




Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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