Day Dream

I awaken to find my brain
sitting on the kitchen counter:
a grey fruit
cut into neat sections.

I cough and a black dog
snarls out of my throat,
pauses on my tongue, panting,
peers through the cage of my
half-open teeth, squirms through,
pounces down, and settles on the floor
at my feet.

Soldiers lie in my chest,
gassed. They’re tired
of wallowing
in mud like tree stumps.
They’re ready for burial.

 
 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Keith Polette has been published in Sonic Boom, Shot Glass Review, The Limberlost Review, Orphic Lute, Rendezvous, The Piedmont Literary Review, Samisdat, and Inscape. His haiku and senryu have appeared in Modern Haiku, Presence, Frogpond, Autumn Moon, Bones, Ardea, Hedgerow, Chrysanthemum, Under the Basho, The Zen Space, Failed Haiku, Dragonfly, as well as photo-haiku in Daily Haiga. Keith’s book The New World is a Pond Frog Edition of Red Moon Press (2017).

 

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By Ailish Annie James / 2018-04-13

Synaesthesia

By Gregory Neil Harris / 2018-04-05