“abu” by Travis Gouré

“abu” by Travis Gouré

abu

and it is true that there may be hardened ones
unspeakably rough
and locked up

in their chambers

but no one
admires
no one

you will have to
remember that
at some point
when the world is darkening
and starved
and by the lampposts
a boorish thing with leather skin
needs water
to carry on

and in the prison
the man: the flash reproduction
frame
ghost
sits idle
at the gate of the world
not quite fixed
to bear with what weight
the jaw of the threshold shuts

the thinnest will return
to you
the bewildered
the turned in
the finished

the abstracted will return
to you
the distant
and irretrievable

and your eyes, and your smile
with the face of a wolf
will be indiscernible

after a long enough time
in the deep
after world, god, being
is flesh neglect
heart untenable
kiss misery

we are all perceived
executioner
torturer
devil

and so they will approach us with claws
and violent lips

there are few sadder
things than this

no body can survive
without another body
somewhere along the way

but no one
admires no one

hate, fear,
fucked
over
yes
but no one
admires
no one

you will have to remember this
when the manmade iron beast
arrives at your doorstep
tilting from life
untrusting
to the last

and only you can save them.


Travis Gouré is a young writer living outside of Atlanta, GA. He has interned as a poetry editor for Deep South Magazine, and as a contributor for Rush Hour Daily News. His poetry and prose have appeared in Menacing Hedge literary journal, The Sacred Cow Magazine, and The Scarlet Leaf Review.

Category : Issue Six October 2017 Tags :

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