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  • Jack Sullivan

Two weekend poems

Jack Sullivan





Raspberry Weather


I do what I want,

if you haven't noticed. I've grown

okay with myself,

if not this weather. Outside

the construction beams

rise and fall, while the soot-stained men raise their mournful voices. The old neighborhood shattered beneath them, like glass. We shall come and step over the remains

of our past selves -- but at what cost?


Iron your pants, please. We have to get going…


Friday (Montage)


Happiness. Sky. Drifting.

Blue plumes of smoke.

Gasping. Ether. Broken.

Heart. A crumpled up note.

Disappointment. Fitful.

Covered. Mirrored instantly.

A friend. Horizon. Silence.

"Should we go?" Walking.

Leaves. Flowers. Falling.

Heavenly shades. Night.

 

Jack is a queer writer and visual artist living in Brooklyn, NY. His prose and poetry can be found in JAKE, Ghost City Review, Thimble Lit, and Ouroboros.

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