Tag Archives: David McLean

this journey

this is a journey to the start of night, where psychosis grows whole. it is a sleeping eye, wakeful all day because of gravel being amphetamine pain; for days are sun like a tooth aching, slicing ribbons flesh and heaven. … Continue reading

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digging a ditch

the earth has not forsaken god of itself, it has never known her. the spade and chilling metal bar are tender comfort under these cold trees i am violating. sullen stones move like reluctant love for implacably gripping fingers that … Continue reading

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folding guilt

they fold guilt back within them, like a familial structure, familiar like a shabby torn towel, one that got dirty because boys will be boys and blind. here was life and folded-up guilt, a shabby quilt. a family full of … Continue reading

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