Excerpts from Dust

by Chris Drew



sapling paper

bug bite knees

johnny cash



dead children

homemade granola

days are full



a coffee cup left a ring

on my air mattress



“how’s that sovereignty?”

“the beige walls?”
boxes and bags all over
(even in the streets;
the kitchens too)
as christmas decorations
(or any holiday’s)
in the attic or basement

like fruit cellar sustenance

ain’t survival a wild drive?
little nail and pin pricks

sticky tack and tape residues

marking affectionate memories

of receiving godly truths in tinsel

and electric lights

unconditional love infinite

of foreign celestial bodies sparkle

order in the pass of time

dreaming childlike effervescence

bygone colors into cryptic forlorn apocalypses

making the best wishes out to everyone

eyeing empty space alone into unbeing

paying homage to

the empty vessels



staring past plumes


turning out pockets

for beer counters

chasing lonely bed

the window is cracked

fresh air

sunlight reflection edges twinkle

in line with my belly

my brain

clothes on the floor

imitating holy mounds

and the stripped arms

christ like perpendicular

i see flowers on my wall

on my sheets

on my shoulders and wrists

gorgeous prose

in the horizontal shadows

projecting themselves

as true signs of time




‘Ol pond parking lot smell

in Aprils

defiant rain traffic

thrown clouds curb puddles

muddling up jacket shoes and cheeks

chasing candied cars

through lights

toward ambulance homes

reading up on the human spirit

in backyard caved in fences;

buckets collecting stagnant pools;

leisurely tired in grey stew

mid-stream street dogged with spring

purple flowers in the grass

transient grid cardinal west path

into fleeing sun and rushing storms

the stray pulse of wind

beating against half-mouthing lips

hinging open and shut to dilly-dally songs

to heel-toe rhythms on slabs of concrete

tempered time pass manifestations

walking home from the store

with coffee

and bagels



we send our love

through electricity

trip down long streets

taste almond marzipan booze

we push and stroke

stoke fires into storms

my hip popping

painful knees too

and hot feet

i give the line of my waist’s descent

for your eyes to eat

all this sappy flesh for you


Read the full work here: Dust: Fragments in Motion

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