Here are a couple poems I published this past winter. I hope you like them, and furthermore, I hope you'll go and check out the other writers in the Scapegoat Review . About the poems , yeah. Uh. I am nostalgic for the entropy of some aspects of my childhood.Somewhere along the way, as many of us do, I settled like silt in a pond, and these poems help me blow shit up again as I remember and redact and fake the words into remembrances/poems both real and imagined. The persona in these poems is a complex motherfucker, or thinks of himself that way. It's a good thing he's got a low-IQ translator like me. Abandonment I watched Uncle Walt pull a fake tittie out of his inner flannel shirt, present it to my father like a gift he ought to bow and scrape for. Dad laughed and pulled at his beer, I went off to watch the older kids fucking behind the old milk house on the hay left over from years and years of farming but the farm had been abandoned—plows still set in ...
Like the title says.