Category: prose poem
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I Have Seen
It’s here in these early morning nighttime silences under shadows of abandoned office buildings— solitary light in the window, computer screens waiting to be wakened; in the silent shudders of trees and passing cyclists; here in the promise of the day that we must come to terms with the howling cries of death and hunger.…
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Hope Pervades
Hope pervades in all things. There is hope that things will work out the way we want, hope that things will be different. There is hope in the satiating of addiction and hope that the cravings will end. Sometime overnight a black van parked on the side of the road outside of work. With the…
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Silent Nights
He’s a fugitive walking through the neighborhood. Trapped in the town he’s running from. Choruses of frothing loam biting at his ankles. On those silent nights clouds pass by mob-like and at sunset they are pitchforks and torches. But at night, under moonlight; a weighted down hatchback packed to the brim. Anticipating the getaway…
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falling
Falling and flailing, it seems wildly, but, in fact its what we’re programmed to do when we’re falling. I can feel the jet streams taking me, not unlike a leaf. I was in the clouds, but now I’m falling and the mantra in my head: trust the ground. This happens every time I’m falling like…
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Then the Millennials
Everyone was having a good time. Enjoying their food and drinks and conversations. Then the millennials walked in. Slouching and staring intently into the universes contained in each others eyes. Ordered only appetizers. Fed each other ranch slathered carrot sticks. And sucked everyone else into their vacuum of self-centeredness.
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Yeah But, Who’s Listening?
Words —We have enough words, but have we got enough people willing to listen. To really listen. It’s easy enough to write them, easy enough to put them out there, but are we even listening. I’m trying. I’m really trying to read your words as if they were mine. When you read do you read…
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The Scene at Caffè Lieto (biscuit bitch)
travelers stand next to 9-5’ers who line the sidewalk, street-side no parking ’til 9 a.m. Music thunders out of the caffè. One couple chats while they wait, everyone else has noses in screens; trying not to be seen; the starlings flutter near the curb. One brave soul, tempted and cautious, hops under the two-person table…
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These are thoughts too
The most unusual cries are reverberating into the atmosphere, bouncing from concrete walls to traffic sounds. Part loon, part howl; indistinct, yet through it a thought pierces the surface. . . people are. And it wasn’t exactly a thought thought in words as much as a collage of images, maybe a montage of sorts. In…
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Feast
Feast—Could be a stagnant, sunny day; could be soaked and drizzling. Along a row of dumpsters the crows hang out on the truss-work just above. Behind them, in the broad-leafed maple (leaves white with fungus, and crispy-brown singed edges) dozens of crows fly in and out, back and forth. Of the crows that have taken…
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Headed up the hill (Springing hair)
He’s walking along the sidewalk -headed up the hill- carrying his backpack on both shoulders. His springy hair, like the willow tree across the street, hangs over his face. His face hangs over his phone.
Daniel J Flosi is Consumed 