A mirror with nothing
in it burns with magic
on its wall in a Quincy bedroom.
Moody, a man hangs it
in his garden and ponders
its biggest steam plume yet.
Without warning, the wind
blows ashes at his feet
as he burns like a phoenix.
Wait’ll he sees his last sky!
REALITY CHECK (ICING THE FALSE PROPHET)
You tell me you’re the Second Coming,
the one they call “The Chosen.”
I tell you I can walk on water
(but only when it’s frozen).
Why do you think you’re so high and mighty?
Stop kidding yourself and come clean.
If you’re the fucking Chosen One,
my name is Bruce Springsteen!
ESCAPE FROM THE STREET
Street of mine, you can find me in the forest
when you’re ready for your sweet factory of dirt.
I’ll meet you in my sleep. But now I must
follow the shepherd of bees into the woods
as a new grandson would follow his bliss.
You want me, my street, but I’m at a loss
without the glory of rivers and electric blue skies.
You need me, but I plan on enjoying a quiet life
among the stars and old barns. I am saying
goodbye to you. Farewell, my long strand
of misfortune, my worthy adversary. I’m in the garden
of the sky and floating free. Catch me if you dare.
Cliff Saunders has an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Arizona. He's published poems in over 150 literary journals, most recently in Connecticut River Review, Five 2 One, Avatar Review, Three Line Poetry, and Whale Road Review. He lives in Myrtle Beach, where he works as a freelance writer.
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