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Photo by Umesh R. Desai on Unsplash

A man prays to his shadow.
His shadow holds a cross,
while he holds nothing.
There’s a family asleep on a wooden bridge
and below it a whore with an appetite
for smelling salts. An entire festival
of murderers and poets taking cell phone photos
of rare insects. A pile of books
no one will read,
found in the rubble of a writer.
The sky is a frame for everything.
Don’t tell secrets to people dressed as ghosts,
because anyone could be under…



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Jay Sizemore

Jay Sizemore


Provocative truth teller, author of 19 poetry collections. Cat dad. Dog dad. Currently working from Portland, Oregon. Learn more at: