Scott Sherman Poems, Day 5: “Tremble”

Some days my hands shake like my heart when I first unbuttoned your bra, the same way it shakes when I pull the zipper on your ribcage. My hands, hold your heart & quake like a geriatric trapped in a nursing home, with knowledge on how to find Atlantis or his family. Your heart cannot be outstretched any further, take it before the weight topples … Continue reading Scott Sherman Poems, Day 5: “Tremble”

Scott Sherman Poems, Day 4: “Idols”

Nothing is pain like watching something age. I remember the family dog standing up slower, arthritis in the back legs. It made my rib cage raw. My family told me it was something that happened, so when dad began to fall asleep before seven call out of work & miss dinners I wondered how comforting it would be if he knew it was just something … Continue reading Scott Sherman Poems, Day 4: “Idols”

Scott Sherman Poems, Day 3: “Wind & Wire”

There’s a well in the town I grew up grown over by barbed wire, rusted. I still believe wind shakes through the metal into the stone & reservoir vibrates, sings with golden water in its mouth. The town recedes into a waking dream of Celtic lore & love. *this is the third in a five-day series of poems The Opiate is publishing by Scott Sherman. Read … Continue reading Scott Sherman Poems, Day 3: “Wind & Wire”

Scott Sherman Poems, Day 2: “Dial Tones”

Crawling through deserts at night, searching for buried dial tones to call outposts with beds of omen imbued trees. This feels enough like home, pills pull teeth down my throat to bite on the heatwaves in my bones. It’s medicinal in the softest way, enough to forget allegiances with disorders. *this is the second in a five-day series of poems The Opiate is publishing by Scott … Continue reading Scott Sherman Poems, Day 2: “Dial Tones”

Scott Sherman Poems, Day 1: “Home Sick”

6 A.M. Ghosts hanging on the trees outside heads impaled on mailboxes. 104° fever. I slept on the pull-out sofa while my mother cleaned upstairs. I heard furniture dragging on the floor, so I checked on her in case she was moving a chair underneath a ceiling beam in the living room. Realize how much nursing homes smelt so much like my own. Wet leaves … Continue reading Scott Sherman Poems, Day 1: “Home Sick”