AUBADE FOR THE LAST PERFORMING TATTOOED LADY BY DANIEL JAMES SUNDAHL
Why is it you’ve begun to think your life
Is something other, a neighbor you once knew
Muttering at night deep tones of meditation?
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Why is it you’ve begun to think your life
Is something other, a neighbor you once knew
Muttering at night deep tones of meditation?
(for Debbie) Before the fires the woman across the street whose garden grew from rubble gave us a bouquet of sunflowers the color of flame A month later ash and smoke rained down waking us to the horrifying fall of colors...
Read MoreI don’t think of you
when I feel the world
in my pockets;
too often
there is this thing called the american dream a dream of an america in which you work hard hard work and risk taking taking risks sacrificing sacrifice and not by chance chanced nothing in making their mark on the backs of...
Read Morethis shadow inside my mind-cave
lets out a fleet of demon horses
i.Lucas leaned against the shower cubicle wall as hot water pours over him. The scars on his body glistened, pink and raw. He traced one with his fingertip, still in disbelief at its existence. Twelve months might’ve healed the...
Read MoreA plum colored bruise already spreads across one cheek
Eyes, pools of resentment and fire
Just for fun, my nieces pull the wings off Lego airplanes. “Behave!” I say, reminding them of their mother’s last words before she passed a box of sparklers around and drove to the mall for a pedicure. I’m in charge, but...
Read MoreThe old man sat quietly gazing out the front passenger window watching the changing landscape speeding past. Small businesses and residences give way to more bucolic scenes as the young woman drives onto the highway. He wonders if his melancholia will transition with similar alacrity over this long weekend, he would see.
Read MoreRegardless of vintage a Two Buck Chuck boogies like a teen at prom. The gustatory cells hula and google like novas and the body waltzes toward evening as ligaments spring to keep up counting “one-two-three one-two-three.” Oh...
Read MoreHe rubs his eyes, he is blind –
burdened by insight
In each car’s vestibules Rods with three handles Like egg-beater blades Rise from floor to ceiling To be quickly utilized; Entering a crowded Métro train, You hold on Or may stumble and fall. When a person with cheeks...
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