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.