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March 20, 2019 Poetry

3 from Wow, the Moon

Brad Casey

3 from Wow, the Moon photo

wow, the moon pt. 41

get a tattoo of a horse
because you feel good about yourself
read a book about a woman
making love to a bear
like literally a bear
because you love yourself
tie your hair in braids
tight ones
hide drugs in your braids
because you love little secrets
having them
forgetting them
forgetting everyones name

hey man!

post a new photo
to whatever,
who cares,
hope your crush sees it
or likes it
says to their friend
what do you think of this guy
and their friend says
he’s old
and they say I know,
hot right?
and giggle
because grey hairs are hot

make my hair grey
make my body grey
god,
hey god can you hear me?
turn my body grey
goddamn it

 

 

wow, the moon pt. 42

I’m watching a video on youtube
where Stevie Nicks warms her voice singing

where is the reason
don’t blame it on me
blame it on my
wild heart

and it’s joyful
like a casual joy
a firecracker popping
in the great grey bouquet
of existence

and I’m sitting with you
and we’re drinking red wine
caramel sage
you say

I just can’t take
another bad date
sex out of context
dudes with bad political views
it’s all too much
here, feel my heart

you put my hand on
your chest now
the beat like
ba-boom
it’s okay
if you want it to be
ba-boom
we can be Stevie Nicks
you know

 

 

wow, the moon pt. 47

death is having its tarot read
and guess which card
crosses him:
death

the wheel of fortune
is above you
it's coming home early
from its trip
the wheel of fortune
was backpacking through europe
it's gliding across
the atlantic
right now hanging
from the mouth
of the great beast
death greets the great beast
at the airport
holding a sign
that reads
“the great beast”
death is just as awake
in the day
as it is in the night
death is insomniatic
popping pills
trying to find the killer
in that show
True Detective
death and Woody Harrelson
make a good
if not predictably antagonistic
team

do you laugh at death?

death is in all of the stories you tell
already dead
a future of aging
and wonder ahead
somewhere inside of you
microscopic like a
sourdough loaf
rising, becoming
fluffy and warm
a young woman’s voice
will cry
with a cry
in a voice
with a sound
and a youth
that you’ve never heard
and death is a word asleep
against the tomb of the word
a grand canyon of hurt
changing colour
at whim
a psychotropic smoke
of the centre of an
aging nuclear sun

leather and lotion
death is a lit candle
in a glass box
on the floor
of the ocean

 

 

image: Doug Paul Case


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