top of page

"Roads" by Peycho Kanev

The cars are metastases crawling inside the veins of the roads.

And then they disappear in the flatline of the horizon. Green

is the color of the mountain’s lungs. During the dark ages they

inhale the crystals of eternity and exhale throughout the future

eras. Timelessness, lost between tick and tock. The tress bow down

their haunted crowns and whisper scary fairy-tales. And everything

repeats itself again in the future. If you put your head on the ground

you will hear: “I remember how all of this this will happen again!”

Peycho Kanev is the author of eight poetry collections and three chapbooks, published in the USA and Europe. His poems have appeared in many literary magazines, such as: Rattle, Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Front Porch Review, Hawaii Review, Barrow Street, Sheepshead Review, Off the Coast, The Adirondack Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Cleveland Review and many others. His new chapbook titled 'Under Half-Empty Heaven' was published in 2019 by Grey Book Press. He has several nominations for the Pushcart Prize.

Recent Posts

See All

You may never stop asking so I will tell you We were hunted like prey and forced to sleep under trees with the snakes My father was adept with a spear, though there wasn’t enough game in the world to

For I.V. I. It was the future But I remember It was that time we held hands Fingers interlocked like a zipper or the mouth of a flytrap I once folded a map at an awkward angle I punched a hole that we

He never howls when he’s awake. When everything depends—has always depended on acting like nothing is wrong. —Kate Greenstreet, from “2 of Swords” Teeth brushed directly after a radish. The effect un

bottom of page