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Postcards from Exile, a Mike Brennan chapbook enjoy this writing from
Mike Brennan in the cc&d
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Postcards from Exile   

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Chemo

Mike Brennan

    I saw the black cat cross my path- negative constellations whispering their mismatched misfortunes through a smoggy tarp concealing midnight like a mad woman’s curses replicating the sky’s bruised and ashen skin.

    I hit and ran my heart-beat with careful attacks of poisoned promise, succumbing to all sickness with the sadistic intentions of a staged suicide & still begged, pleaded, for the hammer not to fall while the cold steel gleamed between my latest pair of stolen eyes.

    All my scars are self-inflicted and this liver hiccups the bitterest dregs.

    My mind is just a convict of sworn innocence, fogged up with the fanaticism of a fascist, the creaky skeleton was long ago eaten alive by some internal screams sounded by the ghosts that haunt the marrow of the morrow-
    where I continue to pace, a rocking chair of electro-shocks,
    back and forth, hither and thither, engraved in this cave carved somewhere deep in my cantankerous brain.

    Salivating like Pavlov’s dog & wandering under a silver moon,
    I come to you as your legs spread like masts, &
    as your eyes melt into moonlight and wine, &
    as your tales of woe are saturated by the sheer forces of my own
    I come all the way-            in two -            until I become a cancer
    forever -                    feasting upon you.



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