I: Ascription


i ascribe meaning to moments

you: to dice and bones and chance


what did the tea leaves say this morning?


lies are coincident to actuality—

the bees are disappearing


do you take yours

with cream or sugar?


one scoop

or two?



II: i prayed a Novena


i prayed a Novena


you don’t come around much



squirrels are the least interesting
creatures in the yard.


i spend so much time waiting


water boils

the phone rings

the postman comes and goes


everything happens eventually,

says the praying mantis,




III: Jicama stick salads


winter beaches

frozen sunset

ice chimes


tea, watered down more than it is already

cancer-survivor relatives

seekers of good fortune (read: lost change)


cinnamon jicama stick salads with maple syrup

and rye whiskey; French pressed coffee

cereal for dinner


midnight; spring-time shower trysts

walking. home—not a place, but

fingers grasping fingers



IV: on poems written in the middle of the night


he said, don’t

read too much

into all this


i’ll tell you

when you

need to know


most times,

i just like the way

the words sound together



C. L. Carol

C.L. Carol tries to be a good human. But, humans being humans, he’s known to fall short, stumble into a local haunt and spend time ruminating. Sometimes he writes. More often, he thinks. Diane Wakoski once likened one of his poems to Yeats, but the poem is lost and the story has now been relegated to fable. He lives in Northern Michigan with his wife, Emily, and their daughter, Berkleigh. Companion to cats. Friendly gentleman. Terrible golfer.

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