I cried so hard I threw up; kept hearing his snarling and snapping, then the blast of Travis’ rifle. I was nine. Not even Momma’s embrace muffled that sound. Yesterday I searched Netflix for “dog,” and there sat Old Yeller. I watched it with Momma in mind. How she loved dogs—even when her right arm and whole tongue had been stolen by stroke, she’d still reach out with her […]
it`s like the 3 bears sd.— this is a fucking LOT o porridge we should have Goldilocks over, but we’re never at home David Earl Williams is from Kentucky, the eastern part where the wild k-y berry grows. (It`s slippery!) He lives now at Fishtown-Gloucester, Massachusetts. Recent publications include: incessant pipe.com, and Yellow Chair Review. You can find him on YouTube.
I just can’t sleep anymore. So I put my hands deep in craft hoping my brain will follow suit. That’s when the atmosphere shifts. Cools. And you sneak in to ruin my poem, cup your hands around it. Add a touch, unnecessary. I watch my work topple. Hope it wasn’t a masterpiece I hear you whisper somewhere. In my head, it’s easy to picture you throwing things across my bedroom: […]
“Give me your hand. Take my hand. Don’t you let go. Don’t let go….” –Samwise Gamgee to Mr. Frodo The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien When Sam cradled Frodo and asked if he could recall any orchards in blossom, any birds nesting in hazel thickets, I never understood why Frodo had to give in to being naked in the dark, with […]
On the day Whitney Houston died, you texted with teary-eyed poor grammar, the first thing you did when you found out was to go to bought her greatest hits. Ears deaf to most sounds: the vibrations and pitches she could hit, belt— you could hear. And I think that’s why I can remember you naming The Bodyguard your favorite movie. When you were laid up in your final days, dad […]
“I remember feeling ashamed, for some reason. I was ashamed of my parents. I couldn’t face some of my friends at school anymore, because I desperately wanted to have the classic, you know, typical family.” – Kurt Cobain When you tell our children about Nirvana don’t begin with the shotgun shell, his box-shaped heart. Tell them about his childhood. Tell them about ADD, divorce, bipolar disorder. Tell them […]
This poem is a Google Adwords ad intruding into the sidebar of your heart. It’s a 1-800-LAWYERS commercial making you money off your personal injury. It’s a brutal, bloody UFC bout weak in its ground game but knows its Jiu-Jitsu and it’s got you on the mat, begging you to tap out. This poem is FUBAR, a SNAFU waiting to happen. It’s the tear gas America uses against its own […]