I found a fox elder standing under a box elder. He wore a dapple suit with a pipe in his mouth then tilted his hat to greet me. He leaned against the trunk of the tree or the tree
Category: Poetry
Long after bedtime and long before the birds and the dawn when I could hear the furnace tick click-tick-tick from the basement, and Dad’s sleeping-sounds stumble from under the bedroom door and not even a car on the road
Cu Chulainn, the summer disfigures me. When the soil swells with that impossible heat and the air clings to my alveoli and sticks you collect to, as some residue, some form of subtle irritation lining my pores and blossoming
It’s north a bit, the mountains brown and pink behind it. The dirt, the scrub brush, all things dry and ready, smell like tinder. Like an unlit match. Things creak out here that you can’t see. Call out across
I might have prayed, but I don’t remember. There were three of them in the truck, their sick slick, raw chicken faces, shining. They held position next to me. There was no one else. No one but us, and
Tiny jeweled pawn, all eyes, mouth and legs half-sprung for jumping. You could have been a radio star if the dice hadn’t rolled the radio’s way, eyes closed, a crooner swaying in an unseen green tuxedo. Instead you crouch
Beauty has no jurisdiction in the sleepwalking morning. Creaking joints and eyes not awoken from slumber quite yet brave the day, unarmed and unassuming the sun tickles the newborn sky until it’s ruddy. A new day blushes and begins.
You walk the moral high road While we sit far below Yelling for you to jump This was originally published in Spring 2018 edition of The Helix.
If I could dump this mind like a bucket I’d weigh less than a whisper across water, less than a minnow swimming in panic, contained and vibrating bait. How did we kill them? I don’t remember that part. How
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