I rose those mornings
wishing I was sober:
cold light, casual sky
lifting blue over black
strata-orange, blueblack
not a fucking cloud in sight,
and Masan sleeping harder
than any sleeps—great
drunken death torpor
refusing waking—I,
gorgeously lonely beneath
mountain towers.
—Brendan Walsh
Brendan Walsh has fallen in love with South Korea, Laos, and all of New England; he currently lives in South Florida to sate his palm tree needs. He has been published in Mudfish, LONTAR, Wisconsin Review, Lines+Stars, and other journals. His second collection, Go, was published by Aldrich Press in 2016. His work has been awarded the Anna Sonder Prize of the Academy of American Poets, the Leslie Leeds Poetry Prize, and a Freedman Prize for poetry in performance.
Copyright 2017, Brendan Walsh