We know it’s fake, we remember the chase

Photo by Jan Walter Luigi on Unsplash

In the woods, the ravens called hey
like a loud boy pulling a scratched face
through tangled brush.

No amount of sleeping bag
can block out the panic. It’s a loud shout
of hey in choir falsetto like someone

stealing candy from a shocked playmate
somewhere else within the campground.

I will find myself at the end

Photo by Christer Ehrling on Unsplash

I will find my way off
the wheel, like mill water
I’ll slip from the zenith, pay back
my potential with a scattered dive.
This falling is a form of freedom.

I will find myself at the end,
how a spitting pugilist drops
a strapping boot on dried bloodstains…

Alone with literature is still alone

Photo by Karen Zhao on Unsplash

It takes a special pain to scissor credit cards
into the sink, a small act of prison panic
during a summer alone in the hills upstate,

in the vacant aisles of a midday grocery store,
in an empty matinee movie theater
where the only other person chooses

to sit right…

Trapper Markelz

Trapper Markelz (he/him) is a poet who writes from Boston, MA. His work has appeared in numerous journals and publications. Check out http://trappermarkelz.com

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