Poetry By Jeremy Freedman

​​Continental Divide

A few doors down but precious
friends surround me
and animate the animal in me
I evaporate down your flag
down to half-staff
with all the bones of my hand on fire
that's the kindest thing I've ever done
for a drowning animal
or for a liar
No wheat without the chaff
No sorrow without a laugh
No art without the craft
from my drugged eyeballs
to my dragging feet
a few doors over
in the rat-fucked street
What a vanity is this dazzle
Sex and faith overheat
on this opulent jour de fête
of my desires as fluid
as any maiden meet
an elixir mixed with whispers
and codified sighs
of recognition
 
The Continental Divide opens
like the private parts of a flower
in their stupid concupiscence
a watery flytrap
for the little satrap
who drowned lickety-split
in public in a puddle
as shallow as a pistil
deep as a rain shower
sharp as any needle
and more furious




Some Basic Information About Your Plan

Maybe the design has a kill ratio
Of one to one
Maybe if you could tear the air away
Self-praise would pour seductively out
Of your open throat like smoke
Maybe the smoke would stick
To the walls of your cells like a member
Of some subcutaneous club
Maybe your brain could perform its witty
White noise and quiet the guests
Maybe you can guess where
This is going
Maybe your throat will bleed
Vice-signaling motherless smoke
Into the coarse night air
And cover the world with your pity
But probably not
Maybe the plan is flawed
You are not a time traveler
You can’t make history vanish

Bio: Jeremy Freedman is a writer and artist living in New York City. His poems have been published in 2 Bridges Review, Pioneertown, Queen Mob’s, Cleaver, Otoliths, and elsewhere. His chapbook “Apophenia” (2017) is available from Finishing Line Press. His photographs have been exhibited in Europe and the United States and have been featured in numerous journals. More work can be seen at jfreenyc.com and on Instagram @jfreenyc.

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