• Broadkill Review

Two poems by Alex Carrigan


Tunnel Sounds


I play music to trap my mind. I stare down a tunnel and wait. I waited and stared down the tunnel for the echo to catch up to me. The echo catches up to me when my eyes start to sting. My eyes sting from the impact as black and green spots fill the air. Black and green spots fill the air as I feel blood pool in my mouth. Blood pools in my mouth and chokes out any attempt to match the melody. I attempt to match the melody, but only harmonize with copper. Harmonizing with copper is an orchestra member who arrived late to rehearsal. Arriving late to rehearsal means that the best seats in the group are taken.

When the best seats are taken, I have to remember the agreement. I remember the agreement I signed when I wanted music to trap my mind.

After Jericho Brown



Concerto ISS


Space is supposed to be silent,

but I can hear the scales of a piano.


I hear the crescendo rise and fall

with the readings on the monitor,


red waves arcing like the top of a tuba,

descending in a low note.


The swish of the conductor’s wand

matches the hurricane I can see


forming over the Gulf of Mexico,

now entering the dies irae.


When the hurricane hits the land,

and when the beat becomes erratic,


will the people below hear the sounds

of a symphony? Or will it be drowned


out like their homes? Their cars?

Their bodies crushed like tin cans


laid out in a row across a fence

to be knocked down one by one with


a boy’s first rifle. From the tin can

above them all, I see keys laid out in a row


like the ivories of a piano,

but when I tickle them, I don’t


hear any crescendo. I hear the crushing

emptiness that comes when the


orchestra pit is cleared at the end

of the night.


You do not have to get in a rocket just to confront the silence. You can just put down your instrument and stare out into space.


After Madeleine Barnes






Alex Carrigan (@carriganak) is an editor, poet, and critic from Virginia. He is the author of May All Our Pain Be Champagne: A Collection of Real Housewives Twitter Poetry (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). He has had fiction, poetry, and literary reviews published in Quail Bell Magazine, Lambda Literary Review, Empty Mirror, Gertrude Press, Quarterly West, Stories About Penises (Guts Publishing, 2019), Closet Cases: Queers on What We Wear (Et Alia Press, 2020), and more. He is also the co-editor of Please Welcome to the Stage...: A Drag Literary Anthology with House of Lobsters Literary. For more information, visit https://carriganak.wordpress.com/.

112 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

In the ditch a deer carcass, no head from You Are Happy by Margaret Atwood It was a silent beauty I found, had yearling antlers, much more than the horny buttons of a fawn. Its fleshy muscles would pr

The Bigness of the Herd I can never get over the bigness of the herd, the stampede of clouds cascading over the warehouse, I-70’s commercial river of blood lights: heads or tails? Nothing could be mor