photo by marie c lecrivain
Adam Phillips makes his living teaching at-risk junior high kids how to read, write, and dominate on the hardwood (these are three separate things; the kids rarely read or write while playing basketball). When not thusly occupied, he's f**king s**t up old school on the coastline of Rockaway Beach, Oregon, with his inimitable wife and two small sons. Recent/impending publications include upstreet, Blotterature, Shark Pack Poetry Review, Raven Chronicles, and Blue Monday Review. His first novel is forthcoming from Propertius Press
if there has ever been a place
in my heart for the eater
the heart is a brain
at the supermarket
in my brain I am the greeter
and you wear a nametag, a red vest,
and you are the boss.
Together, we watch
the cottony tentacles of the storm
reach down to scrape the parking lot.
Swallowed in a drab gray ocean.
Soaking in one unbroken
(this is simply the heart speaking, dressed as a brain)
eater of souls. of dice. of bones. we're side by side
when the eater washes over, dissolving
trains, the fish market, you
who never believe anything I say.