The Whisky Blot
Journal of Literature, Poetry, and Haiku
She’s moving away from us
a few inches every year, the longest breakup in history, and perhaps by the time she’s free of our gravity we won’t even be here to mark the occasion, moving on ourselves through stranger pastures beyond this brief and precious thing called life to lands unknown and unknowable, the final mystery after love has left and what will it matter then without her quicksilver face to shine down upon us? Kurt Luchs (kurtluchs.com) won a 2022 Pushcart Prize, the 2021 Eyelands Book Award, the 2021 James Tate Poetry Prize and the 2019 Atlanta Review International Poetry Contest. He has written humor for the New Yorker, the Onion and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. His humor collection, It’s Funny Until Someone Loses an Eye (Then It’s Really Funny)(2017), and his poetry collection, Falling in the Direction of Up (2021), are published by Sagging Meniscus Press. His poetry chapbook, The Sound of One Hand Slapping, was issued in 2022 by SurVision Books. He lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Comments are closed.
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