He’s the most amazing &
already they take him, fate
beautys up the mirror, wonders
how ever one gets used to tighter.
I wake alone & say Jack
until I lose & the white
of my eyes vibrate & blood
drips in rios down my nose.
Almost a model, food-
trays slip through the tiny
slit an effort to ingest, down
25 lbs. feeling born all over again.
They try in every way to reach
you. They flatter, they promise
you things they can never give.
In silence you sit not even nodding
your head. At night pedal
an invisible bike. Day paces
like dinosaur string sticking
to the wall. New larva. Draw
a shovel over your bed. Draw
a hole. Draw a blonde girl wearing
a short skirt. Draw cloud city.
Draw just enough so you can see
the edge of her white panties.
I move slowly fingers over
my hip bones, ribs, skin is so
so white & clear. Hair unkempt
like it that way. With a pen missing
its shell (so not to hurt) I write
a letter to you then rip it to shreds.
I start over and describe the apples
in my dream. I mention my blonde
girlfriend Lindsay, my fingers always
moving. Your eyes like two Jupiters
floating over me before I fall off to sleep.
Charles Kell is a PhD student at The University of Rhode Island and editor of The Ocean State Review. His poetry and fiction have appeared in The New Orleans Review, The Saint Ann’s Review, IthacaLit, and elsewhere. He teaches in Rhode Island and Connecticut.
I have never slaughtered a pig.
My hands, though slathered with a sheen
Of melted flesh, are swiftly cleaned
With a simple paper towel.
The cottonwood trees watch. Whisper. A
lyrical business, theirs. Bored by the Wind
River, they turn toward the termite-nibbled
The Pacific begs me to swim away, anything
to keep us from strangling each other
on the boardwalk. The Freakshow
is where our love belongs, a two-headed
oddity feasting on dust and bone
This is how pleasure goes marauding
thinking twenty was happy
thinking faces you won’t believe
wrapped in a smell of hand
When she reeked of distraction, a dozen fools
set out to decant her childhood.
You work with doll pieces and cigar
boxes. Mirrors reflect limbs
suspended on toothpicks.
It’s easy to forget how weird Elvis was, sitting in the Atlanta airport on a Sunday morning, Viva
Las Vegas on every screen,
lined up at the bar with fellow travelers recently notified that alcohol is not for sale until 12:30 this afternoon.
Come chill with me and watch a show
Tonight, whenever, I don't know;
We'll listen to the new J. Cole,
And I will judge your nipple mole
look back, look back
you will be Rorschach
a print of a man
She’s not my aunt by blood,
so I’ve a chance to taste her.