MUZZLE MAGAZINE
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After a Man with a Combover Asks Me to Explain Atheism
by Jordan Cobb

                                             I was never good at believing in heaven, 
but I have seen hell, & it’s navy blue. Like a pin-striped suit, 
an officer’s uniform, a retirement ceremony with a bronze star 
stuck to a chest. Blue like bedsheets or blankets or quilts 
that cover bodies & consciousness. Like the hours I spent running
over the icy asphalt on Panther Hollow Bridge, where the steel 
corroded. Navy blue like the interior decorator learned the devil
is colorblind, so she decided to use a ‘monochrome palette’ 
& proceeded to put pleather everywhere. The barstools & booths, 
cracked under the weight of fallen faith, which, she swore, 
spooked the vegans & pissed off the eco-geeks who were afraid 
the microplastics would never degrade. The center of a terrifying flame, 
not the blue you think, but darker, harder to contain. A house, 
up in smoke. An insurance claim. Or, candles spiked into sweets, 
a blowout bash of a birthday. Because the movies make it seem blue
is the warmest color, but Revelations described the dead given up
from the ocean, only to be delivered to a lake of fire. The blood 
was red, yes, but the rest: navy blue. 

Jordan Cobb (she/her) is a queer American poet based in NYC. Her work has recently appeared in Interpret Magazine, Magma, Fugue Journal, & The McNeese Review. She is @on_the_cobb on Instagram. 

ISSN 2157-8079
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