Tag Archives: empty

Mushroom Cloud

The days
that separate us
are long
and large
and almost empty
to the few days
here and there
when we
are together
and your warmth
always finds me
envelops me
enters me
a nuclear explosion
a mushroom
cloud of feeling
from my core
to my edges
and when you leave
I float down
with the fallout
in pieces
you’d want
to stay
long enough
to see what we
could look like








Photo by Mark Mawson

Bad Poetry

More than decoding trigonometry
in high school is how much I hate poetry
when it’s bad and still makes its way
like a laughing FUCK YOU onto the pages
of prestigious publications that promise
news and art and poetry for poetry’s sake.

Poetry for poetry’s sake is as empty
as a dry water bucket in the desert—
cold as a wet blanket on a chilly night.
Put down your pen if your words can’t heal
or break or stir. I don’t need to bleed,
but you better prick the skin.

DeMaris Gaunt


Shovels (A poem for a friend with a broken heart)

They dig.

And then they dig

deeper and deeper.

Their only wish

is to seek and reveal—

and in the process

there will be scuffs

that fill with

mud and harden

and chip off again

and finally, when they

find their treasure

they go back

to work—

a little shinier now—

and fill in all those

empty holes.




DeMaris Gaunt