ditch,

the poetry that matters

Conor Harris

Conor Harris was born in New York but has spent most of his natural life in Virginia and will be relocating to California. His work has appeared in Ephemera, The Fat City Review and is forthcoming in Blind Literare Journal.

 


Wooded

While your stable tilts into
stoniness, who am I?
Hopelessly fogged
hillocks in the brief of the day.
Pyramids interrupted by glass
of a treble intercession,
buffeted against
rising tides.

Sudden accumulation as
geographical intention; as human error.
You experience
fluid as a breath of stop. I
flow as hindrance and formation.
Angular edifice surrounds
your grassy plaza. A knoll atop
which I locate extrudes putrescence.

I am the last plancked church
in your mind. I am mindless
violence and immoral
fig. I exude glimpses
of ramshackle trees and hopeful bash.
You set me alight;
I burn for all your night skies.
 

 

 


Tessellation

My dialogue with
The asphalt ends
In fog and lebanon

Striking hard at
The glass before
My breaking point

Cloud towers over
Load bearing branches
Obscuring their roots

I pass by them
Over and over and
Can't get past by

Trapped in a triangle
Jungle of low hanging
Partite caterpillars

I howl tile patterns
As visual dissonance
Succumbs to cigarettes

Insects skittering by
Parallel tracks a ways
Outside of our candle

Wax labyrinth minotaur,
Embossed, avenged, break
Silence, child's adobe

Now carry me off minos
From lebanon in wax
And rupture asphalt whims
 
 
 
 
 

Telempathy

Sad at the corner
a dog tied up alone
down the nostalgic
cherry blossom street
corner of drowsily aware
and a fender bender
postered power line pole
a blue eyed young
tousle-haired boy wistful
at the wooded
coffee haven & wanting
a forest walk sip sipping
tilted over teak tinted
cup stains surrounded
by a growing volume
of voices coming in
from the grey green
of the city to untie
taught expectation
unbalanced too tall
too layered chocolate cloud
chocolate cloud cherry tort
tilted unminded expectation
rewound spring at ready set
in the cedar eyes of passing
dogs
    I’ve found you, longing
 
 
 
 
 
 

Pistachios

The unexpected accompaniments
of the hammer
hammer along with you
your dented pistachio head
bobbing along fronting
shadowy mountain ranges
candlelight lit in the oatmeal
scented distance of a winter
morning coupled, caramelized
brown sugar melting winterlong
between ghost white fingerlong
tendrils, wan and pale and
translucent in knot colored light
pulsing a thousand bearded faces
from the walls above us
dribbling down lustily on
our sweat beaded foreheads
, screaming erosion
from the spoons spilling
toenails toward the end
of a snow bound fast
and oaten nesting instinct
pulsing twice bound pair
of paired eye-lashes battened
between wind whipping cracks
in the embankment of orange
drank down with the coming cold
as two toned doubles bedded
down with a coming mid
atlantic winter afternoon,
spellbound amid a blanketing pattern
at the end of the year
 
 
 
 
 
 

Al Frente

I dream reality that drools against
Your forehead like a bird caught
In the front of a speeding car
Refusing to remove itself
There attesting to the limits and
Finitude of what we crash into
Headlong in our push upstream
Against all the frothing denial
Stones and bends and dams and bodies
Stand erode falter or swim
Contrarily to no.
I see a tumble of damning world
Against an onslaught of water running
Twice fast babbling corrosive undammed
Negotiation of would be movers
And would be staids
To fall abutting that force of no
World compacted and oncoming contrary
And refusing to be refused.
Comprehending I seen from beside
Downwashing rivers of winter divested
Tossing up upon banks fantastic
In their collected bits bricks between
The brief passage of branches eyes
Bound dreaming birds in flight
fleeing from they as forgotten
Oncoming traffic unpaused

 

 

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                                                                                                                         July 16, 2013