writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

enjoy this Mark Fleury writing
in the <6" x 9"
2012 ISBN# paperback book

the 4-D
Window
the 4-D Window, a Mark Fleury book     Enjoy this third book in Scars’
Mark Fleury poetry book series
as a 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback
ISBN# book!
Click on the cover or any
linked text for the book the 4-D Window
enjoy this Mark Fleury writing
in the 6" x 9" 2015 ISBN#
paperback collection book

Seeing
Strangers
Seeing Strangers, a Mark Fleury book     Enjoy this compilation book in Scars’
Mark Fleury poetry book (of THREE books!)
as a 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback
ISBN# book!
Click on the cover or any
linked text for the book Seeing Strangers
Does My Brain...

Mark Fleury

Does my brain have
Wings? Looking for a home,
Will the golden flash

Of my wind-shielded

Car-cross start to
Sing?

*

A living room full of
Puppies can’t keep a
Bookstore open.

*

The mask of old age
Is the same as a lake.

Old man Boss Priest
Standing still won’t make
Death come any slower.

An engine that won’t
Start stretches its
Dawn across the water.
Silver haired wheels
Are losing lung capacity.

*

Shadow can barely stay
Awake, stretched across a filing
Cabinet like window blinds.

Bad posture and judgmental eyes


Won’t let the old man die.
Too much unfinished business.
His skeleton frames rush hour traffic
Outside his office;

He’s afraid that his bones
Could be crushed from any side.

So turning, like the wheels
Of his internal organs,
Patriarch Boss into first
Person Golden Rule.

*

I stand with a necklace
Of horse teeth.

The congregation is locked in
A black and white world’s

Horsepower. Take me back
To the stable.

*

I’m an ocean
That wants to be a lake.
The clouds are

The hair that circles
The rising sun of my head.

Subtle, my shadow
Rushes by just beyond
My field of vision.

It’s the lunatic in the mirror
Who thinks killing stops killing.

It’s Frankenstein, cornered
With torches. Grabs one and dances

To the loony tunes of war.
How can my shadow laugh and howl

While I’m so still?
Now it’s me who’s falling asleep.
My lungs are pink and new.
My inhale has pulled

The blind stars up
And stripes will no longer
Protect my nakedness.



Scars Publications


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