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
both.


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 –


how
we endeavor
to save ourselves
how
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
too. 

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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