Billy Clem: Winter
I’m eating at the local Shell, again, a hot dog, wrinkled as an old hitchhiker’s thumb, with a bag of chips and a lottery ticket I can’t devour but would … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Autumn
Attending late flowers, I inhale low pressure. Four o’clocks trumpet their final purples and sumacs give a sudden red beat before they cut and bleed. Tall and brazen pink, surprise … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Spring in White
It’s April and the robins have returned and shit streaks long and white as pulled, uncolored taffy. They christen budding lawns, walkways, and streets clear now for the ice … Continue reading
Billy Clem: About 40
This junk I’ve carried forty years On good days pees a single stream, But mostly just sticks to my thighs White as unseen fishes’ bellies. It’s all here for little … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Dear Lady Justice
Dear Lady Justice, You are here without a summons. Voices insist you be taken upstairs to crowds waiting to watch you, hear you proclaim their imperative. Refuse, … Continue reading
Billy Clem: Winter’s Manly Art
Those times in the clearing, a startling bald spot, like the one on his head, the crown men grow to hate, I tried to speak to him. Useless for work, … Continue reading
Billy Clem: As My Death Approaches
I am gravely ill. Medical tests indicate that my blood and many of my internal organs now fail to perform necessary functions. My body, enervated, starving, looks and feels terrible. … Continue reading
