In Poems & Fiction

The dog barked all morning.

The green trees breathed blue air.


I’m resting now, on the motel bed,

the TV watching me.


I am a telephone.

Why don’t you call?


Blood-black night in my veins,

I want one good noise,

so I turn on the radio’s truth music.


When you wore your flammable party body

I wanted you, like charred bones want flesh.


I think I hear ringing, now,

I’m a phone call to myself.


Naked on this bed,

I have no address.


Wherever you’ve gone,

I will call you,

remind you

I’m not your fault.


Appeared in The Midwest Quarterly, Summer, 2014.



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