Drew Gardner




Blind Stairs



what I thought was a plant

hanging in the window, turned out

to be a picture pasted up to block the sun


the phone line’s cord

has a tension

I moved back up with all my legs


capillary action of separate lives

I want you to set me on fire

drawn up through this rejection

of life’s script, or simply botching it

broken shadows of impatient light

move past in filthy blurs

but the car never gets any closer to the moon


speaking directly to the little cloud

of charmed obfuscation, dishonest

with more uneven staying power

like all the strength of small-spirited bullshit in the world


dead leaves won’t answer

the colder questions that try to warn you

through this 3rd St. door, falling through wood always was

the activation of thought

and feeling over fatal time and distance,

not an isolated event in an insulated net

for ever being alone


too exhausted to write or think

I took the little whale

and pulled it to the shore


in the oven’s blue flame crawling

the power of life and death is in the tongue




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