Looking Up

You sit and gnaw your nails And listen to the silence on the ceiling. Shadows of loitering silver clouds, becalmed in blue, Hither-hence, my guest, Blood and bone befriend, where you abide. Draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen, And you’re as right as rain… The garden waits for something that delays. There must […]

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Changeling

Why do you look so different Now? Milky-white teeth where before were horse-yellow, Shining amber eyes where before were blood-shot green, You blow in your direction and I scream in mine. Why do you smell so alien Today? The sneeze is grass-fresh, beforing aged lace, The wax is belly-soft, beforing piss stink, You plant your […]

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Half the Chance

I am a reaper whose muscles set at sun-down. But I am too chilled, and I hunger. But something in me isn’t ready To destroy what I’ve carefully cultivated. When I gobble you up I lay the little bones ever so gently round my plate. You woke in the groin of night to feel a […]

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Sensing the Dark

With a deleterious pinch of excavated beauty, I’m clambering with my mouth At the silence of salt. Eager fitness, the chance has passed And I’m content with pretend loneliness: All for one, none for all. Fingered moistness, in pensive anticipation Of a failed mouthful, I break bread with my other self. He casts a long […]

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Slow, Slow, Stop

Lucretius grabbed my arm and led me to the spot where he went nuts. Beneath, the nether worlds, deep, still, and mute silence howls in my ears, and I cry out. Behind the curtains by night or the failure of right eye I buckle over buckle over to the side into the pillows Now I […]

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Smiling Sand

Laughing with no laugh akin to a sighing hawk flying with pained delight at the sun. Surprising even the dead with dreams of open coffins, delayed resurrection and the smell of burnt chocolate. Eyeballing only the wounded homeless hoping for a home, creeping towards electric heat I open their flesh and journey on. © Uzar

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Dryblood

From the wing of some black bird somewhere a planked path winds above water and then the human clay whose blood we still carry rose up in us then humans will come ashore and paint dreams on the dying stone. Stevens – Hogan – Harjo

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