John Grey
John Grey lives in Providence, RI, and has been published in Agni, Worcester Review, South Carolina Review and The Pedestal; with work upcoming in Poetry East and
when I wrote the sage of the iridium nib the blasphemy of curled, caved-in lines on melancholy paper diseased by stool-pigeon creosote/a manner of breathing speaking in the language of burning buildings more real than smoke/ behind the chrysanthemum show peep-show art school with corn-flake sensibility meanwhile back at the slide-rule I stand side-by-side with my wings and we discuss flight like butterflies our color running like eggs like primary blueprint time like transparent circles in contentious armory/memory moving the board the ball-game the weaving of a moon-clipped shadow tongue-lasher seeks home in abandoned stars/sewer ANDABOUT ..... A mind like a sleeveless dress all arms and tan and cool wind in place of thought a heart like a worn shoe grubby toes of feeling wiggle away the dirt while rusty nails penetrate love a soul like a frayed button about to lose contact with budding holes of stringy prayer all together a package in place of Elsa left on the doorstep of a word or two spoken to the want of becoming
