by Jason Ward Boyte This morning I was baptized. Now I’m lying stretched out in the backseat with my legs up on the black vinyl. It’s hot. My calves and the back of my neck stick, but I don’t have the energy to move. Pastor Sherwood said the next flood would be fire. That...
This poem will not be Depressing. It won’t talk of the wasted Energies of humanity Pictured each day in the framed faces Of bus windows.
By Jason Ward Boyte Remedy chaos With tabernacle glue. Martini slants just as sticky The lure of stasis, We pour out into tiny puddles To settle and congeal, becoming solid in a (spineless) way The rainbow in the puddles of oil Behind the Church of the Nazarene. There’s gold there for the taking. The...
