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J.
Marcus Weekley
Having worked as a freelance journalist, a bowling alley janitor, and a video store manager,
I officially decided to continue writing. My work has appeared in zafusy, Poetry Salzburg Review, Agenda (Broadsheets online),
Fire, and 3 AM, among other places.
Rubble and Flux
there are fireflies
fireflies like city lights
city lights fading
fading into morning
mornings like wet cats
wet cats with blue tongues;
there are hyssop and myrrh
hyssop and myrrh aromatherapy candles
candles like secrets
secrets with insidious intent
intense scraping at the window
black green-house windows;
there are G.I. Joe figures
hero figures broken by fathers
fathers like wet willies
Willy from off-kilter juke-boxes
juke-boxes with sticker roses
roses stolen from gravestones;
there are Mississippi ice-cream cones
Delta cones like a sand
and peach sun shake
shaking sweaty preachers and podiums
podiums like metal crosses
crosses with yellow jewels;
there are sheets
sheets of inky paper
paper like mounds of dirty snow
snow molded into glistening men
Mars Black
Like the sun only without her skirt
or the way her eyelashes bat bat
at a dead lover covered in silk
silk-like fantasy with strawberries
and whips and chalk-lines
and an undercover mother
who loves to bide her time in Fall
the constant Fall of laughter
without sequins or underwear
and knowing half the time she’s silent
half the time she’s quiet
waiting for one to wake her
from a fairy-tale nightmare
about earth, covered in earth,
planted in earth
copyright
© J. Marcus Weekley
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