Tag Archives: Jay Sizemore

after Louise Glück It is terrible to survive, this tidal swell of shot glasses, reflecting light. Film of crushed pill, eyelash crust, waking up on an autopsy table. Victor Frankenstein’s pale hands, hot breath on a stethoscope. They say it’s … Continue reading →

after Wallace Stevens I. People talk around death instead of about it, like visitors to a hospital room using small talk for a pillow to smother the face of their fear, ignoring the man on the bed, his open mouth … Continue reading →

after James Wright When no one walks down them, the roads cease being roads. Silent skins cleansed by rain, still rivers. Occasional tires hiss, their grooves catching loose grit in slow turns out of sight. Soon I’ll sweat more than … Continue reading →

When snow is wet, it clings to the sides of trees, like white moss. It climbs fences, turns windows into gauzy glass, eyes with cataracts. Cars outside try to tackle the steep hill of our street and fail, fishtailing into … Continue reading →

for B.B. Define the color blue. Surely, you would mention the sky, but there are so many shades you might be lying. Blue is not a color, but a sound— sobs echoing down a hospital hall, or a dark alley … Continue reading →

He stands defiant and unprovoked but needing to prove something and his glazed eyes say that he never touched his father’s mouth or wanted to like the way he forced his fist into mine, and now it’s four against three. … Continue reading →

their twig fingers dance and quiver, conducting the music of the clouds, writing invisible words on that page of sky, which scrolls past, a gigantic ribbon of amorphous ticker tape mottled with birds and mechanical birds and other things that … Continue reading →

A man driving a white jeep asked me for my mental road map. His frustration poured out the hole of his mouth like invisible molasses. Are you from around here? Are you from around here? I’m not. But, yes. My … Continue reading →

and the lonely people shout, “where is her face, the one we love, that she kept in the jar by the door?” The cellos start playing discordant notes. The singers stop singing their songs. The erections fall flaccid and begin … Continue reading →