| By Curtis Whitecarroll 
Photograph by Baxter Jackson SALT WATER CHILDREN By Curtis Whitecarroll every eye pointed at my shadow angrily see nothing because I have become less than nothing I been looking for a way out to make vision die say a prayer may as well no one is whispering you will be talking to yourself now officially crazy dream the dead coming back no zombie apocalypse just an odd looking family reunion I don't mind all the rot I have plenty myself all hidden on the inside where did you put all your dignity the question that is often asked me without it being asked you think you so much you think I am so new I have suffered and blocked away more than you could ever hope to to gather and scar yourself with be dead with me and then get over it my dance to dust with falling skin-rain I follow the the burnt out star dust of my overdosed first fiance eyes staring back at me in the black sky of my mind I pray you will some day understand this and almost understand it talking to myself again burn the world with the sage brush that you remember as part of your youth first, it always burnt well not as well as the skin under mom and dads cigarettes but well enough the heat is coming I keep hate fire under my tongue clear my throat there is some kind of inferno here where has my love gone? falling into the snake pit of an easy regret stars are easy to write about makes it perfect for metaphor for such complex and ugly things I can talk about how I think of giving up as if I held the responsibility to keep the sun burning as if I must toss kindling to it myself and the exhaustion comes so hard I decide the human race is not worth the effort it takes to keep them warm oh embers of a sun neglected I was neglected too, on the best of days, take me with you into the cold non being the shedding of the warmth that helps people identify you I have been losing warmth since I was a child, and I am no star open eyes as swamped with details as vision can be I will give you the crying I dont let others see the oceans I some how manage to swallow my hungry eyes cannibalize themselves and their saltwater children I didn't let the kind beings of the world take me in because I felt didnt deserve the curse of me, but so many times I was tempted, but everyone I have loved has been caught in the misery storm afterward swallow a handful of death after you met me, when never you had a lost a friend before me or the pain from your condition flows like a forest fire or the old ghosts will sink their hands closer, in parts of yourself they had been before depending on which of you that you are, and I am sorry for all of them, to all of you they talk of life, that everyone has clouds I have my dust belt moments black day storms like a song set on repeat, a rain dance for the downpour that no one wants I want to hold you, I ache for that I am starving for that but the best I can tell you is get away wherever I am, a flood is coming, get to the high ground 
Photograph by Katy Brown FARM BOY POEM By Curtis Whitecarroll your hand full of time-seeds I found myself in a foggy field no crops yet, I am forced to eat my words I am fat and grow roots, heaving the wing-beats of locusts  Curtis Whitecarroll is a poet living in Portland, Oregon. He has been published internationally more than 200 times, but his favorite accomplishment is founding Ink Noise review, a live poetry series focused on integrating young poets into the wider poetic community. |
Editorial Staff | Editors' Choice
archive | links
