I have a poem - "A Private Sun" - included in the Red Coyote, an annual print journal from the Vermillion Literary Project out of the University of South Dakota.
As it's print, I'll include the poem below.
I'm grateful the journal included this piece. It was actually accepted last year but accidentally left out. So the editors over there kindly assured me this year it would not be
I didn't see last year's edition, but I'm included with a lot of great writing this year. So it's a real honor to be a part of it!
A Private Sun
What is going on behind the sun
When all the people here mistake regret
For crisis; inebriated, thorny men
And wishy-washy monitors? Prolific,
They shout into the sunny ear of God,
Promiscuous itself while soldiering
Through France, America and Mars.
The sun that took up arms was by
No means against the Oort cloud, but
“Would you have me a castrato?” was,
For all intents and purposes, never
Answered. And now, the mangroves
Prove that death is the premier
Mortician; hitherto, the fakery of
Bobolinks was adequate, at least for
Tomboy sunlight in the oven domicile
Of bakers. The land was canalized
By knotty rays, that much is certain,
But nobody expected the sun to rise
And aim its gun at daddy’s roses, not
A generalist among them. I guess
The moral is: ‘Our sun belongs in jail,
Our jilted sun, in gelatin and gone.’
Readers’ Comments:
Jeff from Oklahoma says:
“That pruney sun is nothing but agitprop! Uncouth! I’d like to judo flip it – but Netflix.”
Little Anne from Tyrus says:
“Humility would do that sun some good. Or maybe reimbursing me for all the men I’ve lost.”
A whippoorwill from autumn’s cleavage says:
“I knew the sun a priori. He was a nice guy before he hit it big.”
The sun’s response:
“You try and troubleshoot a frenzy while improvising a blue anthill’s plumbing and not repine!”