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Hurricane Javier

 

One of us is eating the other

While the gulls have lost their way

There are monsoons all around

Lifting cars off the roads

Shuttling cities to and fro

Tossing drug lords into trees

In the distance a baby wails

Along with the sour-coated smell of the wind

As the poorest of us float

Or swim

Or drown

Down a water gully

Without end

We heard it was coming

But not how hard

How fast

How sudden

Such is the news around here

A slow-motion bullet

Dragonflies will run the world

When everything finally dries out

Nothing really damaged

Nothing really changed


 

Life Support

 

But first

There is the end

The tugging and nudging

The push and pull

Of past voices

Trying to remind you of

What you once were

The miles you’ve traveled

A billion breaths taken

An atlas etched into your face

As if by a hasty sculptor

Listen to me if you can

In the end we begin again

Two souls entwined

Though loosely

Like sheer scarves

Dancing with the whims

Of the wind

 


The Clouds Spell Surrender

 

The way this works

Is you disavow me

Destroy my charms and confidence

Whether by blowtorch or machete

The trees tell me you’ve tested negative

The water wants to warn me about your friends

There is only so much plasma in a human body

I leave mine on the bedroom floor

In the driveway

The woods

On a jagged stretch of road

Leading straight to Birmingham

Along the way the sun

Nudges my knees like a needy dog

The clouds spell surrender

But I do not


 

August Noon

 

Our souls at night

Remind us

Of half-formed girls

How they tittered birdlike

Under sweeping willow tree limbs

That August noon

With their Fruit-of-the-Loom’s

Bleached white as painted fences

Or dentist’s teeth

Looking back now

Feels like an arm is reaching up

Through my throat

No mercy spared

No mercy asked for

Stretching and groping

Trying to reclaim something from the past

That was taken from someone else

Unwillingly


Full Moon

 

The sun is adamant that I’m wrong

The moon is an accuser

Which is why

I’ve drawn the blinds and have

Unplugged every cord and wire

My wife arrives after nine

Late like yesterday

And the day before

She reeks of Polo cologne

Frog legs and garlic

Gives me a swift kiss

Asks have I noticed that the moon

Is full and blue-white

Sort of Lilac

Like the sheets

On our Honeymoon bed


 

Len Kuntz

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans.  His work appears widely in print and online journals.  His story collection, “The Dark Sunshine,” debuted from Connotation Press in 2014.  You can also find him at lenkuntz.BlogSpot.com

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