Eddy Jordan

Relics of What

Relics of wormwood and teething
is the sky oddly
draped: across mom's
breasts where it shouldn't.

Should be across your own.

Hope comes sutured
to worry
so you'll do

Relics will polyp
in such ways
and places

but a wood-finish
magic happens and

you'll be there. Wear
an uncommon brain. B

e an uncommon heart
when it happens. 


How Fog

Ugly precipice and how
we're standing on it wrong.

But what's wrong is us
and how –

we endeavor
to save ourselves
we're licking
the wrong side
of display windows
how fog
is the brain of forget. 


In Defense of Your Neighbors' Avant-Garde Piano Racket

We spy each other across aisles
of acres of pyramids of citrus on
the edge of rot, like any organized mania
grocery display. You're considering avocados.
I am not.

Your check out line number flickering,
like is your teller there
or not?

You brave it still, and you're
parking lot strutting before me.

You run over a dummed out pigeon

You almost do

You clip a wing.

It dances its gross ecstasy.

It gets dead underneath my foot.

It pulps up and stops its worry.

I didn't see it I say. Came out of no where

I say. We grow to talk & talk

turns to odd discovery turns to candle

light. Another dead pigeon needs scraping up

like skillet gristle.

I stumble in your bed. A piano

strapped to my back. To play

all chords backwards with you

when we're all odd and backwards

Eddy Jordan writes runs and drinks in the Longmont & Boulder area. He graduated from CU in 2015 with a BFA in Theatre Performance which has informed his writing and also explains his odd behavior. Past publications include TIMBER 8.1, Punch Drunk Press, Harpoon Review, 13 Myna Birds, & CU's Honor Journal. 



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