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"Wildfire" "and it begins" "that’s one way" "Creativity Must Be Spontaneous" & "lila. (01)" By Chriss Locker

w i l d f i r e 


every july the west burns

the skies darken


from yellow to brown to grey

and the wind fans the flames

that cleanse the forest floors

and barren hillsides

to clear the way for the coming year


every july i burn with those hills

and everything i am and have and want

goes up in smoke

rains down in ash

ripping/tearing/breaking me down

to clean bones and aching soul


every july i am destroyed with the forest

rebuilt with the grass

burned and healed

layer by layer

until i can start again





and it begins


strut to that electronic beat

sway those hips &

shake those curls because

oh don’t you know you’re sexy

when you shout out

hey!  hey!  hey!

welcome to the revolution

my delicious little narcissist


whisper to your shadow

painted pretty in the limelight

spending dimes to buy more time

before night takes it all away &

oh don’t you know you’re going

up  up  UP

it starts at midnight


scream to that song

because it’s yours

just let it out &

breathe it in again before

you meet me in the bedroom &

oh don’t you know that you’re mine

when you moan


& baby we’ll go with them

when it ends


that’s one way


whisper it bohemian

when the cards in your hand read 8 & 7

& there’s no more money in your pocket

but why should you care

as long as there’s

gin in your freezer

& coffee in your cup


as long as wilde & bukowski

poe & plath wait patiently

ready to rock you to sleep every night


as long as you can sing on that sidewalk

& kiss underneath those trees

& dance in the streets when it rains


as long as the ink stains your skin

the blisters cover your fingertips

the tobacco fills your lungs


[ whisper it ]




Creativity Must Be Spontaneous.

i am

s u s p e n d e d

floating some place

soft – 

after sleep but not awake

where heartbeats slow

& thoughts wander f






between conscious 



i am

d a n g l i n g

hanging dormant – 

my waking potential on pause

while this sleep-rooted mind

breathes quiet



i am









lila. (01)

she wakes with blood under her nails

/ /

it would seem

she’s been picking at her seams

while she sleeps under the influence

of one too many downers

& the truth is never allowed

to be this damn obvious

but this time around

the stains aren’t washing off

/ / 

her windowpanes are cracking

even as she pulls the curtains

Chriss is a poet and author living in Northern Idaho with their spouse, cat, dog, and too many unused college degrees. Healthcare professional by day. Daydreamer by night. Look for their work in new words {issue three} from new words {press}, as well as in milk: on consumption, materialism, and taste from Carrion Press and the debut issue of Tension Literary: Writing with an Edge, both to be released later this year. You can follow them on Instagram @viciouschrisss.

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