When I think of my younger brother, I picture him when he was just a little kid, no more than ten or eleven years old. Back then, he had long straight blonde hair and a gentle round face with defined dimples when he smiled, which was often, even when he was trying not to. Always, … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 4: Cooper
In the morning, in Prozac dreams, I have known myself to go to war. The fields of battle used to move and speak to me like waves and wind speak to the hull of a warship. I knew combatants as my friends from when I was younger than I am now. At the end … Continue reading Acts of War
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
I’ve seen you in recently taken pictures. The niceties of souvenir t-shirts, under the sun of the south. Fuck me, maybe you’ll soon have two of your own. But for the moment, I'm sure they're close enough. For them, you stand near the back with a smile. When they grow up, they’ll remember you, and … Continue reading The Principle of Distinction
Though the the street sleeper isn't moving, his paperback lies beside him. I have a paperback on World War Two in my bag. It is always late in the German supermarket, always an hour before closing. Processed food can bring you home for a time. I read somewhere that GIs in the 40s would … Continue reading World War Two Word Association
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)
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 