Tag Archives: Jacob Schepers

Movement to Lymph

They named me Metastatic after my father. They placed me in a corn field, watching me grow. Growing was the easy part; it’s stopping that’s hard. They had me wiggle my toes in the dirt, which was fresh for a … Continue reading

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The Meeting Place

The world is ripe with dead sailors. They fall akimbo into dead whales, cosmonauts of a lesser kind, their ships are tabernacles pregnant with cargo for new planets. Another selachian attack. This time it’s serious. The bounty placed on the … Continue reading

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Electric Blanket Charlemagne

Details surrounding my birth were messy like placenta. I was thrown into the Nile. I was wrapped in swaddling cloths. French lore tells it otherwise: I was Charlemagne swaddled in an electric blanket. I was a lightning storm. I was … Continue reading

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The Man with the Scar on His Chest in the Shape of a Gun

A Glock, to be more precise, the kind of gun you would not want a scar’s shape to take, but here it is. How’d you get it, Mister? he’d get asked in the summer on his vacations to South Beach, … Continue reading

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The Common Man

The common man finishes strong (and by common I mean the basest traverser pledging ill, an oath of ne’er-do-welling whose finish matches stride for stride, cross- country running—and strong, too, signifies a stand for hard liquor cut with buttermilk, a … Continue reading

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The Last Wave

One last wave will make the shipwreck; the other waves are moot. One last wave to crest, to breach the deck, to submerge the deckhands in a wave of other, and to this end alterity crashes strange poetry. The barnacles … Continue reading

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Dividends

Because it is dusk the motel vacancy sign flashes “No” thirty-three times a minute. The secretaries button their blouses in sync while their lovers drive home to their wives. Mall security laugh at the parking lot monitors—they’re watching single mothers … Continue reading

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