jornada del muerto

 jornada del muerto (journey of the dead man)   “no one pays attention to these killings, but the secret of the world is      hidden in...

the laughing men

oh memory childhood illusion behind what synapse the aroma of smoldering autumn fire suburban side roads softly gauzed in smoky light children’s saturday voices rising from yards family raked weekend chored to the status...

mercy

Broken man, your fists, two blue sphinx curled atop a frayed wool blanket guarding what wastes beneath.   And still, that ruthless countenance remembered from childhood… your brute face eyeing me...

the light whose darkness is light

sweltering August afternoon Rene Lazare bare foot, bare chested in a leather smock tied over ragged jeans feverishly manipulates pigments bent over an old barn’s floor mixing tube squeezed oils pressing and...

the myth of Paradise

ninety-nine names of God in a hat   choose what you need throw the rest back   take the God without image God without face distort him to service the cause you...

 blue harp

late night hooch bar boozed up jam… edgy blues cat in a grey fedora wrap around shades pointy shoes sweat soaked lime green sharkskin suit leans into emptiness harp mouth blowing raw engine steam locomotive...

s_a_v_t_o_ train

insatiable appetite eats everything kidneys heartbeats dreams devours without end flies under the radar of patriotic flags revolutionary anthems licks mouths dry where lipstick once gave beauty reign leaves rictus grins on exhausted faces runs fat hands...

last rite

Sunday Christian radio Jesus on every other station the frequency of God stero summoned sermoned into farmland and suburbia I avoid content for now with Lady Ga Ga as I blow past a...

liberation

the manual said so simple now even a housewife can do it. Fantastic, I thought. Let her.  *** BY NEIL BROSNAN: liberation

nightscapes

nightscapes   in deepest night long after the roads have fallen into slumber I go out and paint them awake again with the headlights on my green jalopy. *** BY NEIL...

darkness

that evening you left me on the corner moths drank every street light a swarm of locust devoured the moon. *** NEIL BROSNAN: darkness

a version of aversion

on account of all the bookworms in the library I’ve decided to read at home. *** BY NEIL BROSNAN: a version of aversion

from innocence

oh memory childhood illusion behind what synapse the aroma of smoldering autumn fire suburban side roads softly gauzed in smoky light children’s saturday voices rising from yards family raked weekend chored to the status...

dreamed tao of bees

raptured in bees that do not sting flying within their kinetic drone circumference of apian light I am nectar in each leg pouch adorned with bees that croon green ascension floating...
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