I drink ghost pipe for dream.
I say lovely too much, & it means nothing.
Outside is lovely.
The purpled sun is lovely
in its polluted backdrop
The shadows of men dangling from the roof
will be galley-ed
for the gradients of overlayed sun & shadow—
I love a woman who loves a man with a sinus infection.
For my allergens
we fuck in the duck blind
overlooking a fowl-less pond
Algae grows on our long guns.
The coins in her purse
pestle the wetness
in my ear. It’s lovely
As a corpse flower blooming overnight
As a mouth in sheets
frosts the window
lightning laying in its various blues
of the avenue waiting
for life to strike.
As soil interpreting the memory of the river
moving like derecho
curved by glass-wing flight
PATRICK REDMOND is a writer, teacher, and musician living in Brooklyn, NY. Recent writing is forthcoming or featured in Rogue Agent, Matter Monthly, -algia, The Columbia Review, The Hunger Journal, and elsewhere.
More by Patrick Redmond:
More by the author at Linktr.ee
Follow Patrick Redmond on Twitter @PtrckRdmnd