the ride

death is a lime green cadillac with two sleek fins circa 1959 lots of chrome humongous tinted windshield   glides above bumps in the road finds its way to any destination the last...

on ice

it’s difficult to know exactly how many of them are gone but the percentage is high   not the one’s who’ve lost their way the fallen down, mis-directed temporarily out...

Confederate X

piss stains on the wizard sheet pulled from last night’s bed southern clown klansman gown fearful eyes beneath a cut­out pillowcase boo inside a bigot’s head black Bible talk behind...

alternative conversation

next to my house in a towering maple’s highest crook I’ve wedged an empty soup can open side angled up with a string attached to its bottom end tautly...

  bees

once words were bees your pollen enticed tore from my heart’s hive   torrid drones your scent convulsed coaxed from shadow compelled to speak sumptuous words   only those bees could. *** By NEIL BROSNAN:   bees

 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
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