Tag Archives: Kevin J.B. O’Connor

After Dark

after Haruki Murakami I. From a violet grows an expanse of trash. Maggots gnaw on rotted bones. Rats scurry. A scent of raw sewage. We are here to police flowers, but our cage is built of iron. We are an … Continue reading

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Reunion

In response to preconception I’ve adapted wrinkles, a clever and malevolent grin. I would say the mockingbird knows. The wind, however, is oblivious. Don’t ask what I mean speaking of traps and forest fires. The soul yearns for the loquaciousness … Continue reading

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After Rimbaud

A borrowed title for a book of plums, or rather, poems, jockeys for permission in my mind with a falling Gothic helmet, an image of wheat crackers, and news of a “thousand holes in Blackburn Lancashire”— imperfectly remembered, ad hoc … Continue reading

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Chapare

Still digesting lunch’s red bananas and citron, having avoided poisonous ants on the long hike, I lean over the piranhas of the Chapare River, drape my hand in water as the boat speeds on. We pass by a ruined bridge, … Continue reading

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Epigenetics

A kiss discarded pell-mell into anarchic flames dredged from the human genome, tacked on secret frames— the insistence of causation— buttresses our frail elation. Cravings, interventions of hands, brain, waver in the aftermath, suspect given the environment’s influence on even … Continue reading

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The Wolf

Sprawled on a chaise longue slumbering, waiting, excised from routine, a notepad in his lap, fountain pen, crows canter in the void surrounding his body as traffic hisses a block away. Dressed in navy slacks and a white-collared shirt, form … Continue reading

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Rebellion

Just keep loading the gun or wild tigers will devour you, stomp on milk cartons, break into buildings, lead revolts, and other perturbations of disgraced tyros. Bells of holidays and felicitations unknown, carols that in their fervor have become untenable: … Continue reading

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Pilgrims

We are an immigrant caterwaul, a spectral bonfire of glass smoke and opaque heat. In our blood courses the flint and silver of antiquity, in our bones the ore of ancient machines. We span the Euphrates and the Seine. We … Continue reading

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Saturnalia

after Virginia Woolf’s Between the Acts Albeit disenchanted, unmoored, the generative probabilities subsist on meager praise, blush kittenish, tender no resignation, while forces of capitulation, scrolled on shields and doors, unhinged, rational, guard every exit. Desist or raise glass— rush … Continue reading

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Troubadours

We shall not dive into oceans or be obliterated by the sun. Our crimes of leisure and solitude will remain incomprehensible. One day we’ll explain our disdain for lizards and moths. Across the moon we’ll lay our shadows, both unseen … Continue reading

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Fall

I have seen nothing, but I have seen all. Blackberries rotted on a withered branch, small and inedible. Fire floating on the air above a wayward river. Without care wind harangues the trees. The difference between light and shadow wavers. … Continue reading

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May

A cricket’s milieu—dewy grass, fistful of dandelions, reconnaissance of nesting jays—has proceeded shadowy rain. Today the lily blooms, worms surface in dirt, clouds zoom like warmongers across a peacetime sky while soldiers linger in bed, nursing tea. Hares evade the … Continue reading

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Circle

Show us another way to be invisible, like rain that can’t fall, a mannequin holding a cane, a whip-poor-will without wings. Blame the raven for its execrations. Call the night by its other names. Lose all, even love. Let go … Continue reading

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