Your Ass

By Corey Mesler

I am its stranger.
I am its song
of solitude.
I have come far
to sleep on
its shores. I
am nearly washed
up. I am its
deckhand. I am its
bobby, its loon.
I am its handsome
sailor, returned from
Troy, from Hispaniola.

Read Full Post »

Orderly

By Corey Mesler

In the file marked
“Love Lyrics”
there are thorns.

In the box labeled
“Our Trip”
there are demons.

We eat breakfast
at a table set
for five, though we

are only four.
When we settle down,
and I don’t mean

for the night, we
take any meds
lying around. We

lie around ourselves,
the truth just another
magazine story.

And in our lockbox,
marked “Lockbox,”
there is everything we
have to offer this broken
old world, the one
called “The World. “

Read Full Post »