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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.