Tag: PROSE

GHOST

Poetry & Prose February 1, 2020

GHOST

About ghosts, I said, it seems we’re at a bit of an impasse. It’s less about what I believe and more about what I claim to understand. STOP! For gods sakes, speak plainly. Honestly, i’m sick of the way you talk. Well, sure. I mean, yes, I am sure. Sure that you are. Truly, unremarkably, I am an unsure person. However, while you tediously, perpetually, seemingly inscrutably, constantly remind me of this fact, it has no bearing on our friendship. Much less our conversation about ghosts. Listen. Do you believe in ghosts or not? … Well first, I — NO! NO! SHUT UP. SHUT UP. NO. I don’t need your history. I know your history. Quit dancing around the question and answer it, do you believe in ghosts or don’t you! … I’m

sorry, he said. No. I understand. If it’s clarity you need then I will try my utmost. I breathed a deep sigh.

No.

Such a simple word; ‘no’. But as it spilled out of my mouth i felt an array of history. Rich, true, and honest, history. Untenably my own. No, I continued, I cannot bring myself to believe in ghosts. I do however– please, allow me to entertain my own thoughts … I do however recognize a ghost’s existence as necessary. And it is because I see its existence as necessary that I choose to live in unity with the ghost that I may not see, may not know, and may not believe.

the ghost in the corner of the room,

untethered,

unlimited,

rich in history,

withdrew.

LA

Poetry & Prose January 11, 2020

1/3

flick another cigarette out of your window
like an ornament
the city, a prince,
detests and pretends and sighs
/this is what i am now isn’t it/

2/3

god, this is what i am now isn’t it
a boulevardier,
just another star in the sky,
i, this great city,
am a cactus planted in the median of an interstate

3/3

LA, a miracle
an oasis
a paradise lost
and rediscovered
LA, i need you
unreasonably
and now i feel lost
and undiscovered

photography by Sallie Harrison

wire

Poetry & Prose October 17, 2019

the tide that had shift
a poem adrift
icarus give us a sign

a freediving psalm
that screams carry-on
the pressure that mounts underneath

so,
what
of
us
then?

if light is a gift and freedom’s within
i am a man who contends
and in truth i am weary
from these sudden uneasy demands

it’s climbing like water and brine
like waves i froth at the mouth
for the shore with the pine