A Late Bus
Life in a time of withering
isn’t much of a life at all
I am truly alive in
Heavenly song, in dreams,
Or with a cigarette if I can’t
A cigarette, a totem, mine
Against the mosquitoes
My crucifix, tobacco smoke
While I wait for the bus posed
To been here 2 hours ago
Finally uptown now,
A man on the bus
Within and without, serenity
Peace from the heat
For a time
Profoundly Heavy
Profoundly heavy: this damp/
\makes the Sunday paper
wet between my fingers
Tearing { } holes in the words.
Dirty, sad, heavy, morose
the headlines:
They accidentally let a man
walk on out the jail over there,
then them folks die riding they bikes home
on Saint Claude.
<2 in 2 weeks> it’s a motherfucker man!
The gist of things is bad
before dey turn on over to good
regrets birthin perpetual remorse
twenty years anniversary coming up, begets
Remembrances of injuries done.
Those memories in their flood of storms
Illuminate only the abyss _________ !
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Star_Gazing
Stargazing in the ruins
of a burnt house, all was still
abstractly, the gestures
of your face under rays
of opal moonlight pooled
on broken window panes,
a concentrated harmonium
which echoes out in
empty fields of flowers
hollowed by memory’s desert
the delicate forbidden nature
of want, primal, and profane
bare Etruscan love-making
in the hollows of
a fading Golgotha
our bodies intertwined
look up and call out to god.
— Parker Galloway lives, writes, and collects books in New Orleans where he works as a public educator. He has been featured in APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL. He is on Twitter @causalsaintbede and Instagram @gallowayphotographica.