Well, I’ve been hard at work updating the web site. Trying to simplify the navigation somewhat and keep up with mobile friendly technologies. I'll probably continue to tweak with this and that in the next few weeks.
Priest opens a desert fist a red fish, regards with one eye heavens as sun crackles tattoos on his face. “I beg you destroy my affection,” he says in blood and sand flows from his morning feet. The ceremony that devoured his son casts a rut to the far edge of the earth. The crease that canyons his life into two pieces swarms with abuse. But he cannot consume the knife, for habit of existence. He cannot swallow his own cruel stake.
This piece first appeared in Ditch Poetry, January 2014.
I’m pleased to say that Poetry Salzburg Review has accepted my piece Only When Gods Arrive Covered In Red Dust Will We Recognize Their Child Faces for publication in an upcoming issue. PSR has published many authors, including Naomi Shihab Nye, Jerome Rothenberg, Rae Armantrout, and Brian W. Aldiss. I’m very happy to have found a home for this piece among such notable and accomplished writers. PSR is published at the University of Salzburg in Salzburg, Austria.
Two poems of mine were accepted by Cerise Press a few months ago and now have appeared in their Summer issue. The poems are Incrimination and The Madmen Among Us. Cerise Press has a great looking magazine and I'm honored to appear with distinguished poets such as Dorianne Laux, Patricia Fargnoli, and Vénus Khoury-Ghata.
39 Boys on Ground is now available on Smashwords as an ebook. There’s several formats to choose from including Kindle, EPUB (for Apple devices, Nook and others) or just regular PDF file for reading on just about any computer. You can also get it at Barnes & Nobles or via your Apple device at the Apple Store.
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Also, see some excerpts from 39 Boys.
Look at me: My face is full of tin. More than scraps of meat, I need faith to defeat my hunger. My smelly fingers, stubs of clay, are as they were the day I left the oven of my mother’s womb and stood outside the world consumed by wonder.
See the image that is painted in my eyes. It’s glorious to face the mirror alone and know that you have crumbled from the cradle of your birth back into the haven of our earth and from there climb a sky of dusty wind to blow the dirt and deeds that covered you in other lives away.
It’s time for feet to trample on the dust of my bones, to appreciate the kindred spittle that flowed from the spigot of my father’s rage, but let him leave this stage of life a better place alone.
My days are throwing rocks at me, my past and I must come to blows. For now, only my eyes see into this crystal coming phase. But from the coffin of my chest, my heart beats the wooden earth with bloody drums.