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Owen Neace

 

Lethargy Would be Easier

 

over and over begins to look strange enough

but how many overs are enough

 

rIse drop (pause) rIse drop until the house rain soaked

as a tongue left outside not enough

 

quiver made shiver at seeing too lame reveals

where the host was patterned just enough

 

teachings like muted reflections unlaid before

more lost pains clamoring for enough

 

mythic as given to sojourns near maimed by blood

in my voice never quite old enough

 

Have It Out

 

Just need a space where they can have it out

because no one here wants to have it out.

 

Every day is a ghost’s voice pulling on

prefab coattails whispering Do you have it, out

 

with a slouch like that much more will

be lost than what we have. It’s out

 

& far beyond: an etching of a face

whose bearer will never have it. Out

 

or this is about how you read me, a nephew’s

sister misspelled. Hear, have it. Out!

 

Burial Vault

 

Sticker on back of the truck reads: burial vault.

Tools piled above, their connection to burial vault

 

Unknown, the casketed body lowering:

a common association with burial vault.

 

If I don’t call you within the hour

I am dead. Forget the burial, vault

 

the bowls and vases of centuries ago

not from the coffin’s materials, but those of burial vault.

 

During the war we were young,

never thinking about choosing our burial vault.

About Owen Neace

Owen Neace (@osneace) is a poet, translator and teacher currently based in Alabama. His work has appeared in Prick of the Spindle and Milanga o muerte, among others.
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