BIO
James Blevins studies English and Creative Writing at the College of Central Florida. He has worked for the college’s literary magazine, the campus newspaper, a local newspaper’s sports page; and a sports web page on the Tampa Bay Lightning hockey team. His short story, “For All the Bending,” appears in the 2016 Scythe Prize collection available on Amazon this October. |
Old Bottle, Green,
sticks out of the earth. I wonder, while I’m sitting, when was it last drunk? When was the last time fingers gripped it about the collar, placed its mouth to lips, drank from its cool insides? As Summer breaks her promises to my neck. Tattered label worn rakishly, stabbed to earth. Some remains at bottom. I bet it’s old whiskey. I wonder why he or she would leave even that little bit there, not drink it to the very last drop. Drunk enough like a calm breeze, a promise made to the back of my neck by a girl named Summer—but broken, as often is the case—broken, and sticking out of the earth. |
Robins Taught Me How to Couplet
Wrestled breathing to sleep, too late. Not a wink was Collected, instead, tabled till worried expressions Contort features to bone & cartilage. I hurry the hour To apex; I shudder myself to storm. Brilliance & Value: a daughter’s song sung to collars & cleft chins; Mothers in fields, with dresses bunched into fists-- An hour too long, a sign—glass in origin. It buzzes About an open mouth, dances teasingly about the Teeth. She, a temptress, collector of man’s sigh, Polishes her knuckles, those brusher-of-eyes, tears That pool & portend to break land. I know not of Windows, only space left open, unprimed. Just open. As the astronaut hangs backward over the starry sky, I hang open in equal wonder at that which is mine. A Comet’s Return a comet’s been gone for too long it wasted a day, streaking past me, for a second or two I felt my better English return to water-- all I needed couldn't believe it’d been that long since I'd been needed-- eyes wet prisms porches with candle scars knuckles dancing in the chill limbs bridged over canals I left lone in a night, marked bright by a tail-- long gone but I know now how to write a comet down |