Browsing Category Poetry

The Wasted Pupil

after A Field in England I’ve been here before. A walking ghost before purposeappeared. Eyes rolling, billowing black sleeves, a manleads a group through a field. His smile shrieks.The others hold the corded rope tied…

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The Blessing

Most of us hand off traumaslike traditions, the bloody, mud-crusted baton a father bats his son withbefore the boy takes it running off into the dark future. The pain of being humanrains down fire unto…

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She Fools Me Every Time

When I discover my shoeunder her pillow and my credit cardsfloating in the tub, I kiss herfor finding them. Vile animal, she calls mefor taking her clothesand washing them. I confess. She changes my name:…

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