Every apple sauce afterward
at roughly three o’clock
she would reach past
glaucoma
grasping at his eyes, lips,
and tear-stained teeth
never his left hand or the band upon
(No wait don’t tell me)
Coleman Bomar is a writer who currently resides in the mountains of East Tennessee. He’d rather write about bathroom graffiti as opposed to sunny days and dewy mornings, even though he loves them. His works have been featured by and/or are forthcoming in 365 Tomorrows, Bewildering Stories, Altered Reality Magazine, Impressions Literary Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, The Heartland Review, Danse Macabre, Anti-Heroin Chic, Showbear Family Circus, Rat’s Ass Review, Nine Muses Poetry, Plum Tree Tavern, Prometheus Dreaming, SOFTBLOW, Poets Choice Zine, Cough Syrup Magazine, Isacoustic*, Ethel Zine, and Terror House Magazine.
