#nosesnakewrites

[maddie-lives]

Kombu one piece of ribbon steamed with a wooden spoon and bloomed patience and dried kelp half aged hardened, and set.

chrshrrmnn

[maddie-lives]

On July on July we might no it's August (June?) and we might just see if anything ever changes I remember when all we did was smoke and drink wine, I worked too much and cooked enough can I scream when I do not move? I wish but I do not, I keep telling you that bricks change overnight and the garbage gets taken out, these raccoons have hands that creep me up and down sometimes spatial relativity is subs on the first day of summer oil dripping down lettuce wax paper flips the inside to the wrong I'll be on my best with tuxedos in someone's closet, making out with fur coats this is how it's meant to be or else burned out in someone's basement, forgetting my parents well on July a tree is my best friend I kiss it every day it could have been a rock but not this time I think the trash goes out with raccoons into the summer swimmer lagoons I like being in garbage with you it feels quite natural, like subs on the first day of summer sweat dripping down wax paper giving me the corned beef shivers, holding raccoon hands palm to palm, sweaty but quite entrenched.

chris herrmann

[maddie-lives]

still working on getting internet, that’s all i’ll be able to upload for now.

On the other hand, just started an internship with the fine folks at Calumet Editions, which is looking to be pretty dang informational.

Currently working on a really big section of the manuscript, Jeremy’s Song, which really gets into the character. (he’s mentioned in several other pieces, but this should be pretty cool) It honestly could turn into something bigger, like some kind of epic poem, but we’ll see. I’m mostly focused on getting something resembling a book done before I dream up any more long term ideas.

[maddie-lives]

big dipper a penny for my own thoughts i went outside careful to slip the door and walk around sliding on pitter sidewalk some smoke curled and i waved it away drip drip i could drink a bit more water drip drip and i can never see the grass but i can smell it drip drip take a deep soil sigh i flare all my nostrils to lift it up to me a little bird on the sidewalk dead for a while a quiet walk in the dark will let me sleep or will it be another thing to keep me up i dreamed i was floating in a hallway that i might’ve known once i went to ask you what day it was and what led me to this room but you turned and became the dissolve and i woke up sweating, my pillow soaked drip drip i ask you for one favor and you always say yes to be a sun in my endless night not dark and bad not any more, no just lonely so even years away you’re a little light above the well i drink from dip my spoon drip drip i hear your worries, but remember i’ll always be home soon

chris herrmann

[maddie-lives]

Erigone for all the collateral damage I’ve caused, I sure haven’t seen the better of it I hope I didn’t miss entirely, the visage of a waste calcified then dissolved slow fiss lets the spirit out. poor spirits, they didn’t know the limits to their love. I think that one day, when the snow is melted, I’ll call on them record their skinny scripture in bad penmanship thanks to you! all the creatures have grown, how they tower above the trees, looking slowly down. I do not know the ending, only the future second verb tense and it does not serve me well. You know that my lungs are filled with air and you know that I am tired do not fight me oh so slowly with nails that’s a harsh revue I got my word in what now The gold melts and the copper gleams green so that we will not be content with little images. The pig roasts over the bonfire, juices dripping, The sand still the sun beneath our toes. Our planet convulses somewhere in the desert there is a small taco truck. Do I look that way, though? Jeremy, teach me to love again. I have lost the lockpicks and the secret touch Where does blame go when there is no fault? It goes to the sunrise and sleeps around on the pieces that can be bought.

Chris Herrmann