Archive for the ‘Travis Catsull’ Category

By Travis Catsull

“He remembers the box, made of oak,
With the lock, very secret and odd,
And spreads through a floor the stroke
Of his feet in the iron bond.” –Anna Akhmatova

it got cold
as i waited for the cab

swaying towards the computer

since my feet are pot roasts
sliding across a kitchen floor
as i misread a stapler
for a pack of cigarettes
and lock into midnite

nitemares of brush and pail

i punched and punched
as they grafted skin
from behind my ear

nitemares of whole poem and flying lozenges
while i finally pet krisna’s horse

i stain the shaky church pew
dried blood brown
and find some rechargeable batteries
in a porch boot

cleaning my nails
with the edge of a christmas card
the bayou floods blemished fence
for in the living room a fish slept

nitemares of passing dolorous cloud; vice of youth:

often i will wait for you to speak
while i shudder in a time frame
and move like this
from monday to movie theater

spend the rest of my night in a dune buggy
designed by a demi-god
who lives behind the creek

the strawberry seeds hum
from the burdened guest
to the autumn home of an echo

i take off my shirt and toss it on the floor
so soon
a dog comes to lay on it

my desk chair squeaks
as though a song about arizona
is being written in the next room

yes, i can apologize
like low hung water bags
like any venus / jupiter
glistening in a hand unheld, see

i’ve got this new contentment
that won’t attract flies
or expect some moment of pure awareness
i hope you gloss over
like the prayer of someone sleeping
blowing nite past their many legs
so i guess i
should just start a new sentence
in the calm eye of a window
and shiver behind credit card alley
for the latest “us”

i lock our lives in a travel trailer
and disappoint myself
each month

as love is just
some inventive guilt
that lasts
longer than lightening

i guess i just
showed up to apologize tonite

say i’m sorry

for december


the rest of your life

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