Blood
We live in a world where everyone plays
a saxophone the size of a redwood. I drive
my car through your saxophone. Your breath
sends hail. I see a plate of broken spines. A
traveler with no shoes wanders by
and shows me their dying bible. Their bible
has no sacred text, it’s just blood.
Secrets
Have you ever weighed a handful of screws?
I did while standing next to a thousand
trains speeding against my face at midnight.
There are still scars where I can’t grow facial hair.
They were heavy, the screws,
but not as heavy as the trains. I made
a fist in the image of God and felt.
Like punching something, but there was nothing.
the screws bled in my palm.
The world slid sideways. I slipped
under the trains and was never seen again.
An empty train station at 3am, waiting for a secret
Don’t
How deep do you read into silence?
Give me the city of God
and I’ll show you a river of blood.
A still life is an eternal wanting.
Thank you for surviving that last exhale.
Severed by a tree limb.
Lightning is much cooler in person.
It’s obvious that angels don’t speak English.
Look at his crown, in all its piss yellow glory.
Don’t speak.
Don’t speak into silence.
Don’t speak into silence and I’ll show you a river,
an eternal wanting.
Don’t speak into silence and I’ll show you a river,
an eternal wanting, that last exhale.
Severed.
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Logan Roberts is an artist and writer in Florida. Find work at helloimlogan.com.
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image: MM Kaufman
Rejection Letters 