Author Archives: J. Bradley
A Love Poem As Written By Ted Cruz Terrorism is when I wake up and discover the absence on your side of the bed. This suit is a bunker. This machine gun, a chef eager to make your favorite breakfast. Your smile flattens me; I wonder what color it could make sand glow. Continue reading
Poets lost their shovels when body counts plateaued. Skeletons stayed in closets. Alone, tragedy went home. When body counts plateaued, pens stopped swallowing blood. Alone, tragedy went home, found a family of shaken babies. Pens stopped swallowing blood after the revolution got a job. A family of shaken babies found new ways to reach God. Continue reading
Q-ZAR, Orange Avenue
There was a war every fifteen minutes. The vibration lingering in your chest taught you to aim, to take cover, to wait, to aim, to fire. This was where you counted new bodies, where you wanted to slip your fake name into a mouth like a capsule, be someone’s pronoun.
The replacement building is an erasure, a stake. You close your eyes, snort the last of the dry ice stored in your nose hairs, aim, wait.