poetry by NICK TWEMLOW
In this world, the unrated world, we get to do whatever we want.
The unicorn spearing the city in its gut.
The fashion of home movies,
boy sets out for bigger
& brighter, eyes gleaming a life
living in the hazardous fray of jump-cuts.
Pool’s edge. A salt lick of coke. The zoo, where Silverback apes
grieve the dead. One sniffs the stiff body, laid in wake.
It nose strolls every inch, as if down a boulevard clear-cut through the jungle,
searching for something recognizable. Another
surveys the body, lays its head on an outstretched arm. READ MORE