May 18, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Giuseppe Milo photo



Carl Colvin




Friday’s Dream



The clang of my third hitting

the tabletop is heard over beer-


stained floor and minds, as lines

wind through each room


to the wooden sanctuary to partake

in weekly ceremonies dedicated


to upturned glass bottoms.

My mind floats up through


the smoke-filled ceiling and past

the point of healing into the chilled


air stilled by the moon’s harsh glare

locking onto my misty eyes


and lightly pushing me into a blanket

of snow filled with disfigured metallic


scraps. My head now rests on a tire.






Creaks and Breaks



Naked tree branches

outside my window bend

and brace against winds

from the west. The music

of their struggle lulls

me to a doze, my mind


drifting from moments

ago of my brother walking

into my room, his tears

trailing on the creaky floor.

I sneak downstairs to see

my mom by the stove,


crying as well. The worn

wooden front door groans,

swaying to and fro

in the wind, but I sulk

back upstairs, for nothing

new has happened here.






Carl Colvin

Carl Colvin is a writer, editor, and musician residing in Chicago. Last year, he was chosen by Z Publishing as one of Illinois’s Best Emerging Poets and was also published by the Valparaiso Fiction Review. Musically, he performs on oboe and English horn in a variety of genres, ranging from classical to hip hop.

Editor review


  1. Santosh May 18, at 05:17

    Yes I enjoyed these poems of Carl Colin.


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