Category: poetry
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Sandman Express II
Read Part I of “Sandman Express.” II. notice how this scene ends with an apparition, of course a wink and a nod and a sip or two of warm ale, an old trick of the Sandman, that feral-eyed Merlin chugging across the world on his train like a mad reindeer full of fairy dust and…
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Sandman Express
Original artwork by T. Blake it was a muddy winter and the trains were always late i was heading west of the city— i was sure of it—by the gaps on a map i found in a dream under a forgotten stagecoach just south of the old diagonals, it told me, west of a buried…
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The Blind Pig
i don’t know what happens here at the arm of the great barn door the moment the day breaks through itself & the night capsizes between two watery thighs if the earth was made of salt we’d all be starving little belly full of hay sun breeze & a giant mud stage with a tambourine…
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Wild Card
Original artwork by T. Blake the night was broken, as we know, and what was missing was the blood-pink moon i asked a star for directions, on my way due west, i could not say but by the eyes of the owls was led down a staircase that spiraled to the cellar of the earth…
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Salt Lick
once upon a— no forget it— **THERE IS NO SUSTENANCE HERE.** this house of bones and hero worship, scraping us all down to the knees, under covers clinging faithless by the knuckles to celebrity skin like cheap porn or moldy wallpaper *best scrubbed thoroughly in the bathroom sink* another shitty politician a can of Pringles…
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Lim-bo
This post is a creative exercise. A stream-of-consciousness style free-write, which I like to think of as “coaxing.” A means of getting myself in a “poetic” state of mind—of generating ideas, metaphor, and rhythm. I normally draw only a handful of useful images or concepts from this kind of exercise, but something charmed me about…
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Kissing Boys
I used to have wild hair the kind that knit tangles in the keyholes of all the sweaters and knots in the toes of the kissing boys who used to tip toe in after school like little princes to slay that imaginary line between two lips (where we found the kisses we taught not to…
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Jeans Song
I like to follow you by the scent of your jeans, to linger by the stitches and bury my knuckles in the crooks of the pockets while I dig for the spots where your cologne lies dormant like a seed. Oh, I want to burrow my fingers down. Down to the loops and the tugs…
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On Becoming a Person
notes while reading Carl R. Rogers’s book by the same name becoming a person is like learning how to properly cook an egg because how you handle the mighty egg says a great deal about your personality including your ability to handle the frailest of things, especially yourself (among other very important matters of finesse)…
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Rain Buzz
Originally published on Morality Park There will have been a night that sat on a house with no fence where the stars came in A night made of lightning, like a flash that tore from between two legs, switched off the lights, and crowded the walls with neighbors like a speakeasy, a room with a…
The Used Life 