by Michael Constantine McConnell
Dog-bard, a wall arose. Soon, a red, nude man-era stole Gail of deli, and, lo, my tit-net carts bade, “trap millions’ parts,” but a snag rose many fits, and I’d reward no cabs. Eve[n] Eve’s bacon drawer did nastify names, organs, a tub, straps. No ill-imparted, abstract-entity mold nailed foliage. Lots are [...]
by Michael Constantine McConnell
A small prayer
forgot how to fly,
clings to a giant
beanstalk, afraid
to be eaten
if it ever finds
the nerve to climb
the rest of the way.
by Michael Constantine McConnell
Mother, I’m falling
apart and don’t know
what to do. I’ve turned
a good woman’s love
into ink. You taught
me how to read,
and, now, I am a man
of words. Mother, shrink
me into a seed; rest
me on a delicate
pillow. I need whisky
by Michael Constantine McConnell
Got tore up again, my face
a bloated meatloaf, a roadmap
of burst blood vessels and sadness.
I drink whiskey to baptize
the maggots I feel squirming
in my belly, unraveling the core,
building highways and fleeing
to the suburbs. I blow kisses
into the wind, hope one will carry
by Michael Constantine McConnell
I remember the beginning,
when winged night led
his mistress to Gomorrah,
where they would prosper
and raise a family
of bratty little sinners.
We once discussed such
things over breakfasts,
and flowers stemmed
from our words, hung
in the air like kites.
Then the wind lost