Advertisement
In many ways, this poem is about an excruciatingly difficult childhood, but it is also about my found family, about the people who have helped me realize that the past is something you can leave behind, that you can exorcise, put away because there are better things to do than stay haunted by the dark.
I wanted to paint an eerie portrait of the Brooklyn Bridge area as I first experienced it, capturing both a feeling of wonder and unease, for any place with enough character and history can feel like it has an undercurrent of old magic that may ensnare you.
This piece comes from a childhood of taking piano lessons. I switched to other instruments after high school, but I still remember how to read sheet music.
Inspiration: A relationship—everything but the drill.
When my daughter was a newborn, I found I only had the attention span to write micro and flash; I wrote a lot of it. I was also sleeping very little at night and crashed most afternoons, which for me is when the weirdest dreams happen. “NotRob” was one of them.
This poem was born after a strange empathy opened my eyes to Matthew 12:43-45—the Bible passage where Jesus teaches about demons wandering in the wilderness after a demon-possessed man is healed. Here, I tried to capture the persona’s body as a living space.
This one is a ghost poem whose subject was only ever alive on film: Johnny Ryan, played stone cold and queer to the bone by Wendell Corey in the deliriously Technicolor noir Desert Fury (1947). He haunts the end of the film and kept on haunting me past it.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement