Neil Brosnan

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...

bum feet street-beat wise sunk in banged up shoes previously dumpster swiped lean hobo soled holed haloed covered in foot funk sock stink grime   no blue suede shoes snappy tassel loafers…   gamy high-top sneakers here retro Corso’s weary worn down creased re-knotted raced in hiked trod...

Born on Long Island, N.Y. went to a couple of different colleges; hitch-hiked around Europe got thrown out of Ireland; worked in a mental...

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...

All night cross-town cabs yellow black Manhattan traveling at the speed of metered time. Surrounded by hubbub and sound honking their way to curb exits. Driven by expatriated hacks who...

last night, Rimbaud as the dream dogs howled you tripped on my creased pillow broke in a hundred poems across the floor cobalt hued… ocher, turquoise, vermillion glass glowing under moonlight’s...

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...

    hunted down they found him in an open field riddled with scraps of poetry half thought out verse set in awkward measure broken mouth dammed with thwarted doves fingers crushed stained with...

  Because the moon has no place to rest she drifts in endless circles constantly shedding the memory of herself to forge through darkness brave night’s silence endure the stars.

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...

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...

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

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...