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Postcards from Exile, a Mike Brennan chapbook enjoy this writing from
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The Long Walk Home

Mike Brennan

The homes along these half-lit streets
Frame the shade of my
Miserly mug &
The half-mile left of crackling snow to reach
The vodka I tote to toast this last
Romance totaled by the various tragedies
Of her youth & possibly whatever
Might have gone wrong with mine

But just remembering the ecstasy between
Our souls intertwined in the morning
Revealing the quicker slide
Of the slippery sidewalks &
The unceasing hustles & hopes
Of us against the world where
We could come but could never conquer

So we just escaped it all with a picnic with a blue nun
In the skin cancer ravaged regions beneath the sun
Where all poetries were just beached whales &
Verses mere decorations hiding the holes in our walls
Of all the wasted weeks &
All the battles & paintings
We’ve lost & stolen & won

But with one quick waft of a cannibal’s cloak
My hide’s become too tattered & weak
For even my own jagged jaws to eat
& this lake besides me asks
If I remember how to swim
It’s incomparable to the canals of Venice
I dreamed we’d someday together see-
Far past the open barges of bitter age-
The theaters of immortal love affairs
Tear down the remains of our finalities’ shade
Of a secure life settled along
The world’s wide & wild rolling hillside
Of unraveled truths &
Wooded pocketknife marked paths
As still as the planets standing
Behind this noble savages’
Last hiccups & laughs.



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