poem from the garden

tan lines

left home

without 

a watch today

remembered

a sandwich

ham and swiss

on pumpernickel

with mustard

and mesclun greens

a patch of purples 

and greens in

a postage stamp garden

planted at the end of summer

when the sun still sings 

on necks and arms

kelly r. allen

When We Were Monsters

When We Were Monsters

I’m gonna lose my mind
          —in mono and without Technicolor.
This ain’t me, my values are old
          and forgotten.

But I’m unwrapp’d and dy’n
          with an outstretch’d moan’n.

I see life in lightn’n—and know fear
          in fire.

There’s a delicious song
          in desperate screams.
          Custom goes
that we should feed on one another,
          swapp’n secrets in blood
          and bonds in whispers.

There ain’t no reason not to.

Reason flies on broomsticks
          through moons,
meant for noth’n more

          than howl’n.

                              K. R. Allen