Eric Mohrman


Toasted Twilight


On
the porch. On any
other day. The rain washes away

                the street, then stops. The red wine

blends into the sunset; her
bloodstream and irises absorb the burgundy. Spinning

                head. Swirling

in a glass, the last
light lost.



Untitled


The song
is an absence of
mandolins. Everyone only remembers

all the lyrics
that were left out. The rhythm
can't be kept because

the heart
beats
in the negative space.



This Won't


This will
be a space for forgotten things. This was

                a footstep. This is

a field full
of skeleton flowers; spools of

                moonlight

reflected on the
lake unravel spasmodically
in the rain.




Eric Mohrman is a writer living in Orlando, Florida. He's the author of the chapbook Prospectors (Locofo Chaps, 2017), and his poetry and fiction have appeared in Moss Trill, Gone Lawn, BlazeVOX, Eunoia Review, Fleas on the Dog, Ygdrasil, Moria, and other journals.
 
 
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