by Stuart Buck


on my way to school every day i passed a battery chicken farm

it smelled so bad i would ask my mother what was inside and

she would always say the madness of man she did not eat meat

for years but now that her eyes are clouding with milk her morals

have broken. i saw a movie where they burnt the beaks off newborn

chicks they shot them down a funnel like awful yellow clouds they

burn the end of their beaks to stop them cannibalizing each other

the film said. bite my lips when you kiss me and my inside blood

will taste like rust admit that we are nothing but pink water agitating

the light around us admit that you are scared, of the office work, of

dying. its ok. some of us are just now realizing dust is bits of people



Stuart Buck is a visual artist and award-winning poet living in North Wales. His art has been featured in several journals, as well as gracing the covers of several books. His third poetry collection, Portrait of a Man on Fire, is forthcoming from Rhythm & Bones Press in November 2020. When he is not writing or reading poetry he likes to cook, juggle, and listen to music. He suffers terribly from tsundoku—the art of buying copious amounts of books that he will never read.




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