21.7.24

Three Poems by Stephen Ground

have you forgotten where you belong


or is your prolapsed mouth shaped

like a petalled cup on purpose? can

you sense the empty seething in my

slimy dripping nose, or would it be


better if we started fresh to be certain

no one learns the truth? that you’re a

cat & I’m a rat but I’m mean & rabid

& leaking bile from my petalled jaws


like Gacy’s rubber boutonniere? I’m a

crayon map without a compass, chance

instructions shaken like shitty one-ply

smeared to your thumb; a rich, oil paint


abstraction lacking purpose or meaning,

true to hazy skies, heart red soil & lava

spurting like accidental zygotes created,

gestated, birthed, & delivered to the door


of horny nuns in nine hours flat, or your

order’s free—plus cheesy garlic bread, on

the house. just please don’t say anything to

my manager. did you want to leave a tip?



flight path


gentle wails of


descent like

everything’s


ending, air to

ground ground


to air. earth’s


molten core


slipped free

from the shale


& sizzling soft

as it orbits


the moon.



Oral History of a Three Week Lifetime


at what point do memories of a

moment slip to strictly mythic?


told & retold by generations of me

to progressively disfigured clones,


a self-flagellating game of ill-

intentioned telephone that


serves none but bloodthirsty

fans of sleepless musings.