I don't usually give sneak peeks of new work, that even my editor hasn't seen yet, but I'm trying to be more open to the idea of being quick to market, getting valuable feedback, working hard on polishing the first draft.
So this is draft #1 of a new poem called Burn that will appear in my 2018 book of sci-fi/horror poetry, courtesy ChiZine Publications. It's a shorty. And as mentioned, feedback is always welcome, whether in the comments section below or on Twitter via @SilverbergDave. Enjoy.
When the world burned, we were kissing each other’s clavicles.
It came fast and heavy,
like the tornado of fire.
We closed our eyes and let the heat shudder over our curled bodies.
It was the closest we’ve been for seven months.
And we stayed that way, long after the rubble was excavated
long after the sifters tasted the last grumble of dirt,
Our bones became trophies of raised-fist triumph,
her hands still on my hips.
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Media criticism. Poetry. Theatre. Toronto. Technology. Travel. Sports. Why X-Files rocks.