ALLEN SEWARD

apologist

screaming inside

white noise being

mustard breath

the glass spills as the

ears ring.

oh, be calm,

be cool

just breathe.

the brain is an ugly monster

the heart beats at its

door

and nothing is an

apology.

where trees are shaped like guillotines

we’d sing songs

of worm

and bone

as the cleaver dropped

the sound of thunder

was the sound

of

a slamming door

and nothing more

we’d never stop singing, bellyaching,

not until death

and even in death we’d sing

and bellyache,

a

hallelujah.

the fall of rain

was

the collapsing

of the sky

and we’d move on

into fleshy rooms and dim

the lights,

we’d make them tombs

and make weird noises

in the thin dark

and put on music

to dance to

but we’d never dance,

and we’d sing…

Allen Seward is a thirty-something poet-thing and mill-worker. His work has appeared in Scapegoat Review. He currently resides in WV with his partner and three cats. Allen can be found on Twitter @AllenSeward1, and on Instagram @AllenSeward0.