J. Archer Avery


eggs fried in 
butter, handwritten poetry 
in a yellow legal pad 
the hand cramps but remains
unbroken, words flow but the train 
has derailed, thoughts like a key change
climbing out of the goldilocks zone
over the borderline
madonna in coagulated egg yolk
droplets of chicken-fried genius ink 
and it doesn’t feel 
like i’m going to lose my mind
but i keep on pushing



in the soft darkness

serenity now

in thunder-snow

in a hot tub 
in a tornado

we reimagine

vladimir putin in leather
black helicopters

toothpicks in an avocado pit 
the scent of burnt sugar

we witness
with hearts of talc

the end of one thing
and the start

of something

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