This is a strange time, is it not my Queen? With the valley shrouded in pooling fog, the days have darkened and the Elk have been proving themselves increasingly difficult to be tallied. Their hooves have forked in three directions: where the Root drinks from the Vein, where the Tongue burrows into sand, and where the Stones From Afar circle The Forest’s edge. [Read More]
About Eric Conley
What Could Be Described as a Commune of Elderly Alcoholics
What ate the daylight yesterday—and many days of the past month—was drinking cheap 5.9% alcohol per content beers with men 60 plus years of age. Cranky men, clinging onto beer cans as if their nostalgia depended on it. Maybe a lifetime of drinking dilutes experiences enough so that ageing and learning from life slips by unnoticed.
To Whoever Corrects Current and Previous Addresses (true prose poem)
I have been cursed with a curse! You see, I found the rotten corpse of a horse that presumably floated across the Pacific Ocean from Japan on the beach a few days ago. I took a picture of it’s decomposing skin and pulled 2 teeth from its decrepit mouth (which required much effort to sever the fibrous flesh rooting the teeth to mandible; I had to use a sharp drift-wood-stick to cut the sinewy strands). [Read More]
Outside the Nehalem public restrooms
Clutched walking sticks kicked from the
Tourist gait, all in gloomy imagination:
Faces
(Now imagine rage)
Laid onto discarded receipts for the
Chocolate chip cookie becoming the
Gravel chipped cheek
[Read More]