he couldn’t stop his dreams–

each night he’d fall down a mountain

where him & our dead grandpa,

in his army greens would roll


around in a haybarn & my brother would–

out of nowhere–grow enormous tits;

grandpa would grope and suck

so as not to be sucked himself


into the vacuous sun-hole suck-shining

in the sky. When my brother woke up

he felt no horror but an overwhelming

sense of accomplishment.  It seemed,


he confessed, through a cascade

of tears and thick saliva, heavenly…

This for real happened

on the way home from middle-school.


Mom was driving the dirty white Prelude &

at the intersection of after

him telling it, us conjuring it,

she pulled over and cradled his head into her chest,


caressing him violently and weeping

in the afterschool sunlight.


Corey Spencer

Corey Page Spencer is a student of NYU’s Literature and Creative Writing program. Hailing originally from South Carolina he currently lives in Brooklyn, NY with his girlfriend and his pit-bull Hank. His work is forthcoming in Eunoia Review and SOFTBLOW.

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