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Tag Archives: McPherson Newell
In middle school, I did not want to move. I don’t mean this as in, “I didn’t want to leave the house with the flower murals and the triangle closet,” I mean, “I didn’t want to walk because doing so … Continue reading
I told myself I wouldn’t write a poem until you called as though that would change anything, uncoil the explosive springs of each nerve and straighten out the smile to know I hadn’t said a single word when you didn’t … Continue reading
It wasn’t a tidal wave. It was a twisted clock, I’ll admit, but the time scheme wasn’t really off and I can avoid any other excuse you’ll try to toss in my eyes. It wasn’t a deep bite, and I … Continue reading
Bicycle-thin mattresses. Deep burrows and borrowed fleece and the occasional cracker crumb crackling like an undercover lightning bug. Seal or steal my toes, sear my skin, deal me another deck and dig me another chance to kiss you. I’m never … Continue reading
You must remember that inflammable means the same thing as flammable. You must stake yourself into technique; all means all, no ins about it, only outs and outed eyes and swinging doors and cells full of smoke machines, no longer … Continue reading
Well, people, it’s that kind of day again, because it’s that time of year again— the sniffles are surmounting any effort and you can hear your math class coughing through the test; first period and there’re already fifteen tissues in … Continue reading
Tonight I taught myself to swallow seawater, make the muscles in this throat move like a caffeine-addicted Charybdis, swirl the salt into veins until it presses mute on memory— green-flash phantoms of sloops sailing with me saving you from poison … Continue reading