Ars Poetica
Pictograph: just a word for yesterday. Like youth. Like never
again. I’m sorry. Abstracts of horses and men on horses and bows
and arrows and huge breathy beasts scaled upward by fear. Scaled
by hunger. I have a book that thinks it can translate the world. It
reads like how dead people speak. I hold it up to the stone to
compare which is harder. All the unwritten volumes in their lungs,
in mine. Why everywhere they’ve drawn wheels is an ongoing
debate. Has the sun changed that much since we last drew it? Has
the earth changed? Those who have never known me I’ll let name
what I become. Here is a poem, already yesterday. My hands are
leaving me like a shock of birds.
Landscape with Ghost
Bats asleep upside down under the eaves. All the afternoon Subscribers can read the full version by logging in.
comings and goings of a paper wasp city. Hobo spiders nest where
the wooden stairs have separated from their doorway. The world’s
last door, we called it when leaving. Until we found another home.
Like any narrative, this one ends with a Polaroid of half a family […]
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Outage
Around the snapped cable line, energy wastes into the tall grass. Subscribers can read the full version by logging in.
Into our footprints filled with rain. Into the little animals living off
the grass and rain, now crisp and steaming. Half the town’s gone to
darkness and with nothing else to do we are relearning our hands, […]
Not a subscriber? Sequestrum is a pay-what-you-can journal:
Our rates are variable so that everyone can enjoy outstanding literature.
Access this and all publications (and submit for free).