Because the blues is the GOOD silage and because no one keeps stock. Because I will not revise things elliptical, I wear rocks in my pockets, silage, I get it – I get it –…
Browsing Category Poetry
AN EXTERNALIST, by Christopher Davis
denied tenure because he’d felt he had to say he’d like to lick his chair’s wife’s clit, shut down. Outside his lids, his silent, starless cave, Easter! Boulders beat up white fires, waves! …
TONGUING THE LINGO OF THE LIVING by Christopher Davis
1. In My Imagination Why can’t my sweet nothing, milky, meaningless, polyphonic, swelling in my hindbrain, mediocre, motivated, polymorphic, sound life like a people think? Terrified and tired of this tendency to…
Feed by Nikia Chaney
Last night a hand came out of her fish sandwich. She sat in the damp leather chair, staring down at the yellow paper, dark red bread. There were hard fries, like straw rocks, to the…
FIRST SNOW. FIRST SOUL. by David Dodd Lee
It wasn’t so much the puppets— They were dead in the sewers hung up along The curbs— Or even a big wedge of corned beef. I picked up twenty knives before I found one…