A.S. Coomer


Into the dying day
        a little boy that can speak to snakes
        a tree that spills no leaves
        a familiar scent whiffed as you flee into an unknown part of town

Meant to be?
        Or just another lapse of the                      peculiar
               understated understanding of the way things are
        or     should be?

One of the great regrets of my life           is not             trying
        or not trying                    hard                     enough

Choose the form of your redemption
                     Is intention beside    the         point    ?
Teach me about wintergrass
        One: a quiet place
Sing to me about the nighttime wings
                    Two: the drawer that served as your first crib
Ignore the rising sun & the sad-eyed day to come
        Three: a damp piece of earth no one will ever find again

Home & the will to be      withered        wayward      &       free

Give me death in bites sized for my prized decline
        in appetite
                 small & shrinking
                 at fault & shrieking
Show me. Show me. Show me.

A.S. Coomer is a writer, musician, and taco fanatic. Novels include Rush’s Deal, The Fetishists, Shining the Light, & The Devil’s Gospel. He runs Lost, Long Gone, Forgotten Records, a "record label" for poetry, and co-edits Cocklebur Press, a micropress for "books that stick." His 12-song studio debut, goddamn it anyway, is available from all major streaming services. www.ascoomer.com