Sam Piccone

Irrigation

Tired, in a bed
with a ceiling that
flashes soft purple
patterns when I blink
my eyes.

I can't help but sleep
with a shovel in a hole.
Dreaming that the mud
would fill the creases in my hand
and blot out the
darkness that they have uncovered.

Then crust,
harden, to mortar.
Gathered in grain
and mineral,
shifting with the root
and the water and the
insect. A frail
metaphor pried out of a
meaningless task.
I like peeling away
the layers of mud
so that I can see how
much cleaner the skin is
underneath.



horseflies

the horseflies are fearless, which makes them seem evil.
when the windows are down, they cling to the dash,
skipping with fast steps.
buzzing tongues of speed in ear canals, dialects of fire.
living beyond themselves, surviving numerous strikes with a glove.

when the windows are up,
they suck on the glass,
look deep into the passenger's eyes,
and moan for endless minutes.
through the vents, I choke from the same exhaust they breathe,
and as I fall asleep, they dive into the brush of the grasslands.



&

when the void
became darker with sweat,
the nape was a crutch.
clutching to locks
with a violent fist.
punishment red,
misguided.
the submission
was the crutch.
a crime almost;
against the orange window leak.
nothing clear
in the sway
of the murk.
nothing clear except
the dig into skin
to reach blood.


Sam Piccone is currently a student in the Masters of Writing and Publishing program at DePaul University in Chicago. He has a B.A. in English from the University of Northern Colorado. His work has appeared in the Fort Collins Rabbit, Eudaimonia Review, and Earthborne Review. Most recently, his chapbook, From Behind the Smoke Inside as selected as a finalist in the Eudaimonia Review's 2011 chapbook contest.

 

Current Issue:
June 2011

Holly Day
Karen Kelsay
Don Kloss
Kayla McAuliffe
MaryAnn McCarra-Fitzpatrick
donnarkevic
Carson Nunnally
Sam Piccone
Christina Rau
Bill Roberts
Lucille Shulklapper
Jason Sturner

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