On Disability

Oak leaves collect

upon the lawn

the dead weight of December

bank statements for the deceased,

cars parked

in the cul-de-sac

like beached porpoises

my driver’s license expired

ego ghosted, gutters

barb-wired with starlight.

Outdoor Wedding

Cutlery-cold wind, coffee breath, a horse grazes

in the neighboring pasture

gazing between two strands of razor wire.

The last daughter to wed, in barnyard

October corpse light, faces off

below an arbor of butchered limbs.

The long-winded shepherd says:

And the two shall become one flesh

with Jesus as a partner in your marriage.

Caterers bustle about the yard. The wind

licks the cattails and the bridesmaids,

their arm hairs bristling.

Parable Of The Burning House

Living in the world is like a house on fire, the founder said.

A great host of ants gathers

at the banks of the

bottle cap,

stampeding into the solution—sugar water mixed

with Borax—and the sun reflected therein

blackens with insatiable,

drowning bodies.

The sky’s

awash with ruptured clouds, the lawn

chair bespattered with birdshit. 

© Mike Kravolich

Copyright © 2016, Otis Nebula Press. All rights reserved.


Cameron Morse taught and studied in China. He is currently an MFA candidate at UMKC and lives with his wife, Lili, in Blue Springs, Missouri. His poems have been or will be published in Plainsongs, I-70 Review, TYPO, Sleet, Steam Ticket, Referential Magazine, The Bombay Review, The Blackstone Review, Shot Glass Journal, Rufous City Review, Small Print Magazine, Two Hawks Quarterly, First Class Literary Magazine, Phantom Kangaroo, Cha, District Lit and velvet-tail. Visit his Facebook page for more information.