Urban Stew

By: Andi V.D. Berge California blankets- soggy, a week expired They say one man’s trash is, Well- it might be asylum. We wait, in a dust jungle. Resting and reading our shelter, around the Mulligan stew. Carcass for marrow, onion scraps for a punch We wait. Then we haul- with haste, locomotive Displacement.

Obedience sold at market price*

By: Andi V.D. Berge She’ll be lovely and quiet pink and delicate like an oyster drooling on the floor lipstick in place. Insert through eye and strike the chisel A mere tap with the hammer and she’ll petrify to breath-taking stone and you’ll restore peace at home. Never mind the detachment, you like your coffeeContinue reading “Obedience sold at market price*”

If you call it cutlery, let it cut

By: Andi V.D. Berge Reflective surface given power by flame. Forged in a pit of hope, beaten to elegant form. Silver eager to mold- a spoon if that’s what you need a spoon here to please Please, a powerful beginning. Why a flattened start? Pummeled on the anvil of servitude- a hindsight bias, she couldContinue reading “If you call it cutlery, let it cut”

I Don’t Need Nicotine Patches, I Smoke Cigarettes

By: Andi V.D. Berge Images of a Swamp Willow weigh me down Statue my presence, petrify my face Perhaps the monster’s toothed margin its scattered warts on its alabaster belly spare my fear a touch. For its tentacles that root it still, terrorize me the most. The hush is almost tranquil, noiselessness serves a calmContinue reading “I Don’t Need Nicotine Patches, I Smoke Cigarettes”