Since this all started, I haven’t seen heads or tails of the raccoon that lives under the shingling of my neighbor’s roof. In winter I occasionally sighted him, a dark shape travelling against an unlit alleyway- or slowly emerging from where the gutter had come loose and swung in the wind. My chances were better … Continue reading Living in the Roof
Your letter in the mail is the overdone romantic comedy played repeatedly on the Betamax player of my brain. I keep rewinding and repeating the moments, until the wow and flutter distort the memory of when I first pulled apart the glued security seal. In manufactured magnetic static, what you wrote would be the opposite … Continue reading Betamax
My father Robert grew up in Shaker Heights outside of Cleveland Ohio. I have been to the house where he grew up numerous times to vast my grandparents: his mother, and his step-father Terry. The house itself is three stories tall, with old lighting and bathroom fixtures from the 1930’s. The driveway, which leads to … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 8: Robert
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
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
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
I saw a photo of you in an ocean-going canoe. Not one designed for it, instead, it was the old beat up one that you and your sisters keep among the brush and the sand dunes. The one meant for a New Hampshire pond, made of cherished and dented aluminum. I saw you among the … Continue reading The Summer Triangle and a Land of Abandoned Lake Houses
Ryan Shockey Davis 