and other poems by Spencer Silverthorne
(above, “Spencer” by Logan Lape)
THE SPEAKER CULTIVATES AN INTEREST IN MYSTICAL ENGINEERING
// flippant heart expanding like a blue painting / the night shade cool / shaking the spirits out of swaying leaves / he claws away at his own features / to remind himself of the blemishes / swatting flies from bleeding gums / breath like wilted bonsai / he checks out of the catch-all being
// he feels his body is the porch where children come to stomp / say insidious spells / tantrum the doll worn to the last eye / dogs sniff and shoo / his language is bike tire wheeze / nature’s peculiar taxidermy / remember the deal: you take the creatures and stuff them with horror, i take you and let you rot like a peel / His summer skin performs an act so callous / remarkable sun squaring his body into low grade leather / damning pulse damning
Business is the loneliness
that cash could resolve.
You could shine but secretly rot,
smile but willingly gag, &
always show up with an open mind.
Bring that heart of yours. Cute!
Just let me know when your judgment period is over.
I’ll give you a hint:
If your head is stuffed with chatter, then yes!
To which I say, that’s the stuff indeed.
AND WE’LL HAVE TO LIVE WITH OUR STRAINED NECKS ABOVE ICE WATER
I am a loved one who is too occupied with livelihood for premium brawn. I am not a loved one in the possession of a gun. I am not possessed by anyone other than the personification of my miscalculations.
My neighbor keeps a pistol clipped to his belt, ready to draw when the apocalypse he expects finally come. My car blocks his dramatic exit to wage endless warfare.
I suppose his truck could take the four horsemen in a tide’s worth of toxic detritus. He’s more than loaded. His island of perception shall not be threatened! VROOM TO THE BOOM, BABY. We’re all toast as ghost, honey.
I may as well learn to be free with my confused body just sounding off its inevitable end. He may as well learn that any apocalypse will have nothing to do with a vulgar preemptive truck. I predict it will be melty and slow. I know it’s still lethal but it calms me down.
Spencer Silverthorne has work published in Assaracus, Pelican Bomb, and Unbroken Journal, among others. He lives in New Orleans.