I own a jacket just for storms that start inside the phone, a second skin I keep for bad news, heavy and overgrown. It hangs beside the door like rain that never learned to fall.
By Milan Milic3 months ago in Poets
I did it. I climbed the mountain of life and made it way up high. Thanks to the man upstairs I can stay up high. A mob of life came my way but it couldn’t run me down.
By Joe Patterson3 months ago in Poets
Our kitchen is a harbor where the dishes learn to drown, a coastline built of chipped white cups and forks that face me down.
The calendar hangs smug and flat, a grid of bossy squares, Each little box is a rented cage for sanitized affairs. It circles dates in lipstick red and calls them “must” and “should,”
We filled the apartment with houseplants the way some people fill it with children— hopeful, underqualified, carrying more Pinterest than practice.
Your side of bed still holds a shape that clocks refuse to know, a shallow moon where gravity remembers how you go. The sheets have learned your silhouette, the dent your dreams once made—
We stitch raincoats for our secrets out of half-remembered nights, from shower curtains, childhood quilts, and hand-me-down goodbyes.
I keep a ring of metal moons that never learned my sky, a jangle of old alphabets that no more doors reply. They’re fossils of before-times, love—of locks we used to share,
Some nights The body forgets it is a body. and remembers it is sky. All the dark patches, the places where the world
Greetings, oh traveler of stars, Welcome to an ancient rock. Shall I assume even that yet circles our lonely sun? What is left..
By Victor Mendez3 months ago in Poets
I write you in the shade the mirror saves for after-hours— The color stores call cherry, the kind my mouth calls courage.
There is a heart the city keeps in the basement. It does not wear a stethoscope. It hums through manhole lids and sighs out of vents,
