Author Archives: perfectsublimemasters

The Man on the Median

The snow lies worn on the side where the cars stop, a strip long as the chance for cash and broad enough for a man’s two feet: efficiency born of despondent purpose. He walks the rut of another day’s work, … Continue reading

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Broken English

They say/your language is broken pero broken is/more than a sentence misplaced subject and verb more than a pause before your first language takes hold more than sentences sprouting mother tongue leaves sprinkled on meals for a flavor of home … Continue reading

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The Last Cicada

Just west of eden’s garden I laid to rest the cicada’s shell, listened to the hollow rattling of wind through exoskeleton while vines strangled the porcelain skin of my mother’s poppy flowers after sicarios made her chest bloom as those violent carnations do … Continue reading

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Self-Dissection

i wove you a blanket from my hair, placed the nail I peeled from my ring finger in the cracks of your palm. you gave me some violet polish to hide the scar and it chipped in my mouth when i … Continue reading

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Banquet

up there in the evening sky, from a vast distance, a fiery ball of amber warms the ground with watered-down beams of light. down there, on the red, tepid earth, a happy, little child flies an obsidian kite made from … Continue reading

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In my room

in my room, I sing to the pictures of my dead father, who died from a disease that came from his mind. i tell him how far I’ve come. i tell him how much he’s missed. i tell him how … Continue reading

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Revisiting the Closet

No, the crypt, I call it. Dank & cavernous, so huge, to try to touch the outer wall would be to walk a thousand years & never reach it. The cracked bones of all those who didn’t make it line … Continue reading

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Another Kind of Commute

When I have lost my way in the day’s anxious maze, I stop, lie down on the crowd of grass & wait for silence, for thousands of little green hands to lift me up. The blue sky fades. Graceful blade … Continue reading

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Meditation When Morale Is Low

The curtains refuse to open. The ceiling fan spins itself sick, vomits on the carpet. The couch is on drugs again. A black fog fills the hall & instead of running, I walk into it, deprive my eyes until I … Continue reading

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The Origins of Hope

While I sleep soundly on my side, a family of yellow sac spiders comes crawling through the night to gather            in a line beside my ear. One by one, they each toss a tiny crumb down into the dark abyss of … Continue reading

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Before I Knew I Was Gay, I Was Told I Was Catholic

I came to this stuffy, overly-woody room for one reason & one reason only:             Sunday candy, the sweet & sour coke bottle gummies             & a cherry slurpee to soothe my eight-year-old throat. The convenience store is on the way home. … Continue reading

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The Struggling Poet Interviews for a Desk Job

I am proficient in trees, not identifying their names, but deepest needs, a fish scale’s glimmer, soft paws, toe beans, the tiny, invisible heartbeats of mice, their cries. I’ve never been in a fistfight, but that’s a lie. I’ve done … Continue reading

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Balding

The young man pulls the strands of hair from the shower drain, lays them out straight & orderly, like a pack of cigarettes. He counts the bodies, lights ten candles in the tiny, rock grotto he built inside the medicine … Continue reading

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I Need You to Know I Regret This One the Most

Could you tell me, if I asked, the worst thing you’ve ever said or ever done? I am ashamed to say that on the great, wide map of my life, I can pinpoint the exact place, the exact time, the … Continue reading

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The Tiny Funeral

When I wake to a sharp pain in the middle of the night, I find the room has flooded with moon, the fraying quilt has gotten up & crawled away to sleep alone on the floor. Shirtless & lying in … Continue reading

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To Fall Asleep

The boy was not a boy but a sheep                         in wolf’s clothing, too afraid to show the soft & fluffy edges of his fleece. He thought in claws,                         sharpened teeth, taught himself to only speak with gruff & gravel, to … Continue reading

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Bearing a Sunday Alone

This Sunday sky is Bermuda harbor blue, sailing fat clouds close enough to touch. The heat is smothering. Nothing would come out from under a rock today. Sun has bleached the grass and burned ground to a hardness you can’t … Continue reading

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A Chronic Condition

On this particular Sunday, a screaming crow flew across my path. I had a pilfered loaf of bread under my coat to help feed the starving millions or to melt down into bullets. The pope declared from his window in … Continue reading

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All Good Stories End in Death, Hemingway Said

I didn’t even know you were sick until I saw what your oldest posted on your Facebook page – that you had fallen into a coma during cancer treatment and were very near death. For an awful moment, I wrestled … Continue reading

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Unsolved Mysteries #1

Detectives in their trademark brown derbies peered in the window. They saw a youngish man standing by a Victrola. He had a handsome but somber face, as if the music on the turntable might be stirring up dark memories and … Continue reading

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Sleeping in Class

I have heard it’s bad luck to wake a student who’s sleeping in class, so I don’t, even though now the student may never know that Salvador Dali sat up on his deathbed and, weak as he was, cursed the … Continue reading

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Apocalyptically Yours

As if at a secret signal, the streets filled with dancing grannies. The future seemed tragic to me regardless. Squat men with brutal faces lurked in doorways, under lampposts, behind trees. This was before Magritte introduced the notion that charm … Continue reading

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Wintry Mix

I’m out of seed for the birds, and Jameson’s and firewood for us, and now it’s only a matter of time before I start to let words choose my meaning. Nothing can be repaired or retrieved, nothing, not by tomorrow, … Continue reading

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Blue

The playmat is in the grass and I cannot    stop looking at the most unnerving shade of blue My baby plays his tambourine so maybe the whole thing    is nothing But like leeches to the toes I cannot    suck it … Continue reading

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homewards

most poems draw on childhood but you only have one, so be careful not to exhaust it you can try writing poems from someone else’s perspective – the woman you stood behind in the queue at the Pizza Hut, or … Continue reading

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