Tag Archives: boilermen

2024, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

Fire Rhapsody

Listening to the boiler quiets the whispers
between my ears.

There are days upon days
I am tired of my echo

…

this hollow cavern, this body this skull
I am lost spelunking myself

this fire the only proof of the proximity of water.

…

Do you like the self you see
when you wake the oogie woogie?

…

Give us then the bones: the teeth marks
have their own story to tell.

His heart is a hollowed out tree
downed in a heavy storm.

…

The sky is full of lurking cities dressed as clouds.

The wake they leave make for choppy water.

…

Wait. And wait. And

…

Whispers. They are indignant tourists and terrible spelunkers.

…

Georgi, call out the oogie woogie. It is time for a dark mood referendum.

We are tired of the echo.

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2023, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, river life, Working Class Literature

in search of a true patron saint for western river boiler men

that poet was right about water everywhere.
the only security is a solid hose made
from the thickest rubber not on tires of a 1957 Ford Fairlane:
this we hold sacred, as is the practice.

any intercessions are called forth with a novena of mud and grease,
and must be offered to one with a thick skin,
a proper sense of humor, and a hotline
straight to whoever is minding the upstairs
during these cruel, raptureless days.

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