The bad little brother of the Aurorean

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[one_half last=”no” class=”” id=””]Justin Longacre[/one_half]

[one_half last=”yes” class=”” id=””]WINTER 2016[/one_half]

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Tense

Sometimes doors don’t shut
with the same force
that you expect.

The anemic noise
of an ill-shut door
will
tighten your neck muscles.

So,
you must say the word “carbuncular”
into an empty tunnel
you must bite a carrot
with your front teeth
you must hold a dictionary parallel
to the floor and drop it
you must whip a tennis ball
at the aluminum siding.

 

Signs and Wonders

The sign outside Bowlero Lanes says
“NEW REDEMPTION CENTER.”

The big red letters on Rumors have
fizzled into an interrogating “RU.”

Letters spiral off the marque
to shatter on the sidewalk
or blow down the street.

People argue on the internet
about whether or not to paint
a wall or leave it mute brick.

My own hoarse voice is
sanded bare by the friction
of my vindictive spring cough.

Everything is garbled and mixed up,
no one has a handle on these symbols.

They’re struggling
to fly between us
right now,
fluttering here
where I pinned
their restless wings


Bio

[highlight color=”” rounded=”no” class=”” id=””]Justin Longacre[/highlight]lives in Toledo, Ohio where he teaches English and Creative Writing at Toledo School for the Arts. His work has been published in NOÖ Journal, Spartan, Blast Furnace, and as a part of the the Toledo Arts Commission’s Poetry Sidewalks series.

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