Monday, March 17, 2014

Mitchell Garrard- Three Poems


The moon smelled like dynamite,
but it glowed like naked mornings.
I puked stardust in the alley—
then began to stagger.

I dragged my jaw to the crosswalk,
spotted Corey,
twisted my mouth into smalltalk.
He thinks I'm stupid,
but I think I'm dumber.
My lips melted shut by the moon's hot rays—
impenetrable, I muffled,
"these nights weren’t meant to be days."


When night falls
I shoot rockets
to recreate evenings
like scattered shells
across bathrooms floors
and avoid
by whispering evil
to melting crucibles
in tandem with the screams
of scared men
who gave life
and soil
and copper
by not hearing
the dull, thoughtless words
of old skeletons
with golden frames
that are too at ease
and self-serving
to steal
from you.

Calypso in a Petting Zoo

I’m falling asleep at the wheel now,
a full tank of blood,
oil leaking from my veins.
I watched a dog graffiti the alley of a cat shelter.
He was like an ice sculpture
rowning in the sun for hours.
At the supermarket, a wolf
wore striped trousers
and bit into a can lentils—he dieted
his way into the industry.
His half-bother was a lamb
with half-baked solutions
to loss prevention
in the used mattress market.
Outside the gas-station,
a dragon blew smoke rings
and giggled while reading pornography.
His insomnia drove him into publishing
adult magazines, but he held no animosity
to competing companies;
his product was superior
and he could breathe fire.

Bio: Mitchell Garrard is from Seattle, WA. His work has appeared in "experiential-experimental-literature" and is forthcoming in "Futures Trading" and "Camel Saloon."

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