Tag Archives: C. A. Allen

November

I The trees today are gifting a brain— branches speared up through the neurons and tender gray meat, reminding me that you can’t lose your mind without knowing it first (oh here, take a look before it takes you to … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Circadian Rhythm

Fast is the night with hunger. Dim envelopes, packed with the quintessential seeds of thought: tumbling, gut trembling this cargo of restless iniquities for which a look in the hold might prove fatal. I would like to take these things … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

altered ego

you think of your former self with scorn, standing in some wrinkled hand-me-down dress she stuffed in the back of her closet, the fears she’s choking down, the escape she longs for (and try to convince yourself that pushing her … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Home

There is a crack in the upstairs hallway, crooked and fine; outside the trees grimace at me, their knotty faces— the lines, the seasons—know nothing of change, that there is another door at the end of another hallway, deep brown … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment