April 29 Watsonville, CA
I remember feeling a cigarette burning
a hole in my arm after too many beers
or not enough whiskey.
Tried to shut down Magdalena, called her God’s
own orphan and swore to keep her secrets.
I blame my failure on the sky, there’s so much of it;
too much to swallow. Too many ways to escape
but no way to stay, and I can’t run fast enough
to even earn a quiet look at heaven.
I can almost hear the crow of a rooster, the slow
cock of a gun. There is no love without breaking,
the trick is to break together.
Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis; he has had poems published in numerous journals. The full length collection, Postcards from the Knife-Thrower was runner up for the Moon City Poetry Prize in 2017. Two full length collections Pop. 1280, and John Berryman Died Here were released by Cyberwit and available on Amazon. His work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Piker’s Press, One Art Poetry, Eunoia Review, and Star 82 Review.