Chapter 1. Haunted. My childhood bedroom was on the second story of the house which now belongs to my mother. The room was against the outer wall so that the slope of the roof was that of the ceiling of my bedroom. In winter it was always the coldest room in the house. I used … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 1: Haunted
There were black flies buzzing about my head, when I looked up from my book, and saw my old friend walking by. You and I gave each other a nod of recognition. I had't seen you in a few months, and I'd really been hoping we could avoid any more close encounters- now that we … Continue reading Hirō Onoda
The ancient Soviet pipes in my friend’s apartment Left the water tasting Strongly of Iron Which came from the kitchen sink. Žižkov Television Tower stands Alien in the sky Over the Jewish quarter, And the medieval city. I peer through grates at the cluttered old cemetery. I got here on a night … Continue reading The Hunger Wall
Somewhere, you're playing board games on the coffee table with the dual innocence where we once were as children, but now we're soiled skin. There’s too much baggage in me and my brother's bedrooms. So you start anew at six and seven years old. These are the benefits of skipping the younger years. While you're at it, … Continue reading I Waterlogged the Electric Kettle
The sewn field of France are a rumble out the window. Power lines and embankments. Churches bombed out during the Great War (now rebuilt). The Stalingrad metro station and the guitarist’s inhabiting therein. I ran out of money, and it caused me some distress. I had coffee this morning, and woke up with a sore … Continue reading Bombed-out Churches (now rebuilt)
Take to your holds, your windswept hovels and your ships quarters. Below deck, down the old oak folding ladder with speed, and nearly run right into the center table where we ate dinner, built by my grandfather, suspended on a clever balance, like the stove, and the lanterns dry of oil. Take to your headaches … Continue reading Arthur Kill Ship Graveyard
Stranger with a mullet and baggy cargo pants. Keep smiling because it's all that can't be taken from you. That's what he said in broken English with a French accent, begging for money. Parisian metro scalpers. Unfortunates. The note grows sharp and the train rattles forward. No, I have nothing to give you. Faint smile, till … Continue reading Beggar on the Metro
Without you, my output has been prolific, scribbling and scratching till ink blots cease making stanzas, but rather rise up mountains, winding away, lost in countless valleys. Mists of Gleann Dá Loch, I'm standing frigid in the water till the birds make nests of the curls of my hair. Meandering mystic, and speaker aloud on the … Continue reading Saints and Abandoned Chateaus
I can remember quite clearly, the way that you would wake up when I got into bed at 5 in the morning. Your hair was short then, and when I ran my fingers through I, I always felt the strands end too soon, and then they were on the back of your neck, and then … Continue reading Postmarks
It was 11:15 at night, fifteen minutes past visiting hours, but the guard at the front desk let me in anyway. I’d been on the road for three and a half hour. In half an hour I would be over the Bourne Bridge and home back on Cape Cod. But I stopped just before the … Continue reading Job 19:25
Ryan Shockey Davis 