• Broadkill Review

Three poems by Cameron Morse


Stiletto



from stylus


writing utensil

once applied to wax

tablet incises


its blunt end rubs out

an endless erasure


*


Gary Snyder:


the human psyche remains at best a kind of Paleolithic thing


*


Electric fish jam each other’s

signals, mating calls

sing electric

songs


When Dylan goes electric


the guitar vibrates

a frequency

of sex


*


The forensic scientist can’t quite make out

the letter tops of TATTLER


Will Graham’s home address


*


The foot soles of elephants

say hello in another

sensory domain

*


Other vocabs from Brett

Ratner’s Red

Dragon


sundowner, chinwag, gumshoe






Vector



We cross the tracks

reminded of the cross


shale sliding us down

into the understory


of rusty thorns


*


a quantity possessing both

direction and magnitude


represented by an arrow


by a sere vine in sunlight

climbing


the shattered green

pieces of a toy

assault rifle

*


Dog collars tinkle

in the blinding

light paw


prints in the sidewalk

wet cement down

to the toenails


clickety-clack, moveable type


*


Woodsy interstice

train tracks


between the back

yards where


Theo forages a rail

road spike


a strikethrough

transgression


*


Every time we pass,

the same white cotton yellow

grass bird’s nest


Theo collects another plastic shard

of the pellet gun


as if gluing it back at home

resurrecting the original

impulse






Magnetic Moments



The Survivor Tree holds the sheet

on Enforceable Statements

to the refrigerator door


I’ll be glad to discuss this

with you as soon as

the arguing stops

*


Leaky pineapple blood

vessels and hell


I’d settle for a cup

of salami and cheese


cubes from the hospital cafeteria


*


GBM SURVIVORS TO THRIVERS


New growth not

encased runs


too deep for full

removal, 16 yo son


my baby but forceful

adult enough


to make some decisions


*


Surviving a downfall

of volcanic debris


the tree transported

back to 9/11


*


Bad enough

to have to watch


rhinoceros beetles

wrestle for mating rights


from a movie studio

in the Cotswolds


*


The inverted tree stands upside

down in a field

of magnets


This occurs to me too

late to make a

difference







Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and two children in Independence, Missouri. His poems have been published in numerous magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, Portland Review and South Dakota Review. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is Far Other (Woodley Press, 2020). He holds and MFA from the University of Kansas City—Missouri and serves as Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and Poetry editor at Harbor Editions. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.


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