:: Article


By Andrew Poland.

the ghosts of butchers descend
over umbrella gentlemen in the rainy streets
the only lights are flickering lights
broken embers clenched in smoldering mouths
girded by dripping facial hair
and in their mouths the tobacco tastes like wet graves
burning in the night

all the stars and houses are dead
and smoke mingles with the falling rainwater
and masks the streams imperceptibly
homeless genitals unweave themselves
somewhere in the dark
and perfumed skin leaks into the captured faces
of nameless children who sing with the dogs

and a puddle is our drink
something unknown our food
we were hungry and it was dark
and we dipped pages from second timothy into the puddle
and ate them and that was our communion
the rain swallows us and the wolves hunt
and papa is bringing home eels today
but we have already eaten them in our sleep


Andrew Poland was born in 1991. A story of his will appear in the thirty-ninth issue of the Journal of Experimental Fiction. He lives in New Jersey.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Wednesday, November 3rd, 2010.