Invisible town: The poetry of James Diaz

By James Diaz


July Love Notes

we totaled the car
spread legs
on the dashboard
meta kisses
wistful eyes
on each
falling ash
from the smelting plant
on Lucas and Divine
how your tiny wrist
against mine
raised hairs
like ghosts
in the long
shadow of departure
we wanted out
but our demons
wanted in
invisible town
blood thicker
than sky
and no god
watching over us
the ferris wheel
lights burned
our hearts open
we had no idea then
of all that we would lose
and how the losing
would never really end
our ghosts sat still
inside each other
breathing the night
in like fire,
waiting, waiting
oh so still,
till everything broke,
even the day.



You Survive, That’s What You Do

each morning like a prayer
I was learning from scratch
I hid myself away
thinking fire cannot reach me here
under the bed
long arm of psychical bruises
making what happened felt
should I come down low
to hear your hissing
save me the battle cry
I’m tired of being complicated
doubled over
in pain
on the floor
a poet run out of words
a sun with no place to set
simple, but true

James Diaz is the founding editor of the literary arts and music journal Anti-Heroin Chic. His work has appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Quail Bell Magazine, Foliate Oak, and Psaltery & Lyre. His first book of poems, This Someone I Call Stranger, is forthcoming from Indolent Books, Fall 2017.

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