Christopher Kennedy

I Called Shotgun When You Died

By - Jan 11, 2019

I called shotgun when you died, thinking we could still ride together through the neighborhood, selling bags of light to the newly dead. It didn’t seem fair that you had to cross the river by yourself.

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Three Prose Poems

By - Feb 7, 2018

Will we be broken as light is broken in water, refracted, a trick? Even in our sleep we can’t forget. Stars eating stars. Blue water stippled with light. A shoebox full of teeth. A dog full of many other dogs.

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Three Prose Poems

By - Nov 13, 2017

Sustainability

Nothing to eat except the same flora and fauna, brightly packaged, colorful, like a clown’s face, and you have to choose, read the ingredients, set the time. Outside, querulous birdsong. Diesels struggling up the hill beneath a colorless sky.

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