6/11/2016 2 Comments Three poems by Heath BrougherDeep Puddles A black pearl rolls across the room like everything is fine with the bulldozer riots. A void can occasionally be refilled with good intentions with hard work. I had to stop you before you stepped right onto the trapdoor. I’ve told so many people [mostly mimes] of just how much of a circus a sidewalk can be. We both nibble on the edge of good intentions revived. A rare thing in this drought of knowledge. Many bridges are burial sites. I won’t name them or this very Universe you live in. I know that would only half upset you. Magical Mud Oh, how our clothes are stained in the luscious mud of the Aftermath. To forget this staining would be tantamount to an atrocity. I clutch on and will attempt to enjoy this ride as much as possible before the only True and beautiful carnival leaves this horseless town. Sleep Deprivation In Autumn There is a feeling in the evening’s young darkness that everything might just blink-out and disappear. Things, sights, objects tinted with a cold view pressing into the night. A sense of danger creeps beside. Harlots and honey are nothing, are wilted. A tastelessness slowly taking over. The numbness is omnipresent, stuck in a constant stage of rebirth, standing at hand-side as humid bucketfulls are lulled back to zero. Bio: Heath Brougher is the poetry editor of Five 2 One Magazine. He has published two pamphlets with Green Panda Press and his first chapbook A Curmudgeon Is Born is forthcoming from Yellow Chair Press. His work has appeared or is due to appear in Diverse Voices Quarterly, Chiron Review, SLAB, Main Street Rag, Crack the Spine, Mobius, Epigraph, BlazeVOX, Foliate Oak, Stray Branch, Third Wednesday, eFiction India, and elsewhere.
2 Comments
6/11/2016 07:32:33 pm
I especially liked "Sleep Deprivation in Autumn." The first three lines really resonated with me.
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