I wonder what Jung would have to say about it, how for years now we have saturated the collective unconscious with stories of war, collusion and incest...
Are you okay?
I only ask because
your selections of late
have gone rather grim.
Not an ode to joy
not one kiss.
Excited to share my latest publication with you guys! Two prose poems published with the awesome online journal Seven By Twenty, a literary magazine dedicated to pushing the edge of brevity with very-very-very-short fiction and poetry in less than 140 characters.
Last week, Trump pulled the U.S. out of the Paris Climate Accord. This poem is not about that.
Petrarch had his Laura, a phoenix feather for his pen. Danté's blessed Beatrice sent him to hell and back again. Rilke's heart-sick panther. Burns' wee tim'rous beastie. None tremble with the thrill I feel whenever you retweet me.
This bush is on fire, and we have misplaced god.
I am writing you this poem the way a gazelle must grow ever sleeker and quicker to escape the indelicate jaws of the lion.
The thing about puzzles is, there’s a moment between when you have all the edges done, and when you have enough of the middle filled in to see what’s missing, what’s left.
Crow in a birch tree shakes rain from its wings...
Why is everything I try to do coming out stilted and slow today? I blame you. The general, faceless you. The you who keeps telling me I need to be smaller, wittier, brief.