Dreck

two poems
christian scott

The simplicity is what fed me. I think\ I know\ buzzed\ crows gleaning piles of entrails\ the smallest part\ a stream to die in\ whatever else\ I know you laughed when I left. she tossed her last freedom\ it splashed in the rain\ oaken barge\ sedge blossom\ Heavens solemnity\ crushed\ i've reached the part where you said the heart\ woven\ inside body and mind\ will scrape\ slow laden and birth heavy along the smooth distance between now and forever\ rest\ haggard\ haze\your eyes will look into mine\ the sutured sun raided\ rushed middle\ the wind is tearing at the roof\ how about now is a good time to leave\ the immediacy of the promised decay\ and if i said\ there is a desire\ burning as if to announce\ Hells parched anointing\ daintily placed\ seared\ ladled as rain to pour\ and pooling in the crevasse\ cerebrality\ the darkest reprieve\ these things harm. And have a way of understanding\ go lightly



If apathy is the door then what\ what shutting brilliance of catastrophe\ gaining depth and ardor\ if apathy is a shutting door then what\ i would guess to know\ and if you are here then who is keeping the wind? I am offering careful waste\ i am pilfering prodigy bit by piece\ sit upon the stone table throne as the wind unravels\ clouds sheet gray as steel tendrils\ seep through ground cover\ to return to grain silt ash cover root death birch and wallow and mourn as the sun died. I am asunder\ fly in by needle\ tendon\ ravel words as astute as your mother’s ear\wilted hoarfrost lynchpin trait scar\ dog walks death slowly back down razor\there are no favorites\ sadly\ and without remorse affixed the ritual operation in the dark\ clasped hand over mouth\ and stubble\ watch\ i have obtained and have since lost\ the coordinates\ our movements collapsed\ our legs carried nearly enough to die here in the pouring heat\ shrivels to cold and longing\ i'm not smiling\ even while being filled with it\ there is a small bruise and its growing\ there is a small cut closing on your palm\ our latitude is written on your rib and the other on my heel\ There is smoke and fog and the under heat of the inside earth\ the sky is seeping orange from its side split wide when you smile\ there is no more questions\ i've applied an ointment made of the years we spent in disappointment and the greying dread of nurture\ the bells peal\ they leap\ branches snap



Christian Scott is twenty six and lives in Oregon. Enjoys cooking. Enjoys trout fishing. After a teacher's motivation, writing became an outlet for expression. There is still so much to learn.