Tag Archives: Jeremy J. Sutton

creek’s creak

wild river eyes dart past stagnant thick gouts of foam harbored by exposed roots embraced by undercut banks. uprearing wrenching hammering lathering rolling sediment-speckled-eyes gaze linear. crashing succession of lunges surging and heaving naked legs – lopped felled trees severed … Continue reading

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My wife and her father

He removed the cigarette pack from his breast pocket and split the Salem cancer stick in half and pinched the dried brown tobacco and pressed it into the cut above her lip with his thumb and he removed his 1970s … Continue reading

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Existence always entangles itself in loss

Birthed in grief and ash amid broken artillery and burned-out cars mothers hand wash laundry at the water hydrant on the street corner while children play soccer inside the walled courtyard – where their brick apartments stood before the bombing … Continue reading

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Hue

On the coffee table lies a black and white photograph of death printed on silver-rich cold-tone emulsion paper. The thirty-second exposure stilled the alpine river waterfall – white rapids mist into fog veiled between dark marbled rocks. Silver salts suspended … Continue reading

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On Europe’s bell graveyard

Seize the bells. Shush them. Stack them hip to head, three tall. Sort and sideline the split, cracked, unable-to-speak-ones. Stroll between rows of the unburied beneath the soft cloud light box. Climb inside the large broken tocsin that rapidly gonged … Continue reading

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Ferme tes Yeux

A young boy on a vintage postcard from France sat on a cobblestone sidewalk – his elongated shadow scaled the gray stone wall of some café behind him. Before him, a circle of cat eyes blue, green, and yellow stared … Continue reading

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