After mowing the lawn, the garage needed a paint job. It was while painting that I discovered a mole on my forearm had turned to a shade of deep brown. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to GPT, which said I needed a topical OTC to treat skin inflammation. The second I applied it, the mole expanded, blossoming like a dahlia. I … Continue reading Must’ve Been a Hallucination by Peter Crowley
When winds surge from the west and the guts are unearthed, there is a warping of tides. The moon is decapitated and the torso’s pull emerges from the prefrontal cortex. One has achieved this pull through struggle, yet, by god, it exists. A decision has been made and coronated on a papist balcony overlooking the rabble. Decision stretches out its hand, shielding its eyes from … Continue reading Decision by Peter Crowley
I. silver cells abound in glistening fieldthe body turns, a whooping crane listens.Fish beneath the shadowed surfacedart in seizure spasmsThe crane’s beak jabs into the water, lacerating gills II. hairless, mouth ajar, dark circles underneath the eyes,stomach in rebellion, T cells on strike. There has to be a better way to die listless, pallor, eyes fluttering, hallucinating,blind, cancer in recession, it doesn’t matter anymore. There … Continue reading There has to be a better way to die by Peter Crowley
Groups are interesting organisms. The entire cell has to open its mouth to begin endocytosis. Those not ingested, who sought entrance, are apt to resent the group. People amidst the cell hold similar perspectives on people outside the cell and of other cells. However, this does not prevent them from having independent ideas about elements not related to the group. To get into the cell, … Continue reading Group Rules by Peter Crowley
If you live in New England, early September often has mornings with a chill in the air, where the sun wakes up late, dew floods the grass and, above, the cloudless azure mirrors eternity. As the sun moves higher up in the sky, with the desiccated summer heat gone, a perfect California-type of air takes over. Leaves have not yet turned orange, red or brown, … Continue reading Terrorism Begins at Home by Peter Crowley
Spring raises its rabbit ears and goes blind.A blind beggar coughs lyrics through his shoesThe passerby winces, hugging the sidewalk’s edgeThe arm is the repository site for depositing coronaSide roads are golden, filtered fromthe many desolate people who choke up the bike path –side roads are the antithesis: post-nuclear Armageddon, noiseless vacancy, though, eerily, all the cars are home Spring raises its rabbit ears and goes … Continue reading Spring, 2020 by Peter Crowley
Plasticized card says:you belong Blonde beaches, Irish bars,gray skied smokestacks shivering winters, damp springs,melted sunrises, purring air —People among you walkwith folded lanterns, loud saris, pulsating fiesta sound waves, cloaked in hijab, mangling holy French,reeking of curry and cologne —Drooping Frankish eyes lament – Things are now different Continue reading Status Threat by Peter Crowley
Glass dives off table, marrying flesh Eyes widen, in shock and rage Then another glass, constructed in forgotten Chinese factory, is hurled from hand, from the same direction but toward the other end of the table. The two flying glasses’ trajectories made an X, each shattering after hitting wooden tabletop and splaying out shards which land on mosquito-flooded floor Afterwards, the daughter, temporally “home” from … Continue reading Mother Daughter Fight by Peter Crowley
Independent Sunshine was stopped by the police Sunshine asks, “What’s the matter, you don’t like my freedom?” to a cop wearing a “freedom’s not free” hat The cop, timorously, albeit threateningly, waves an enormous American flag at Sunshine, as if scaring away foxes from the chicken coop When Sunshine remarked, “Thanks for reminding me what country we’re in!” it was promptly arrested for “violent” defamation … Continue reading Freedom’s Not Free by Peter Crowley
In the Acre night, young Palestinian men sat outside shopfronts smoking water pipes and drinking juice. As I walked past them on the streets near the Old City, they may have wondered what sort of crusader I was. Napoleon’s army had tried to mount these walls, where six centuries earlier his ancestors had been more successful, albeit, only temporarily. After walking through the Old City … Continue reading Crusade, or Historic Other by Peter Crowley
