Eric Mohrman
Snowglobe
Whatever was winter was
where we went. winking, wending, winding
among the watermarks. snowpiles on the
going. showing shivering lovers who suddenly
snowdrift when they
touch.
Vice Versa
Walk
out. walk in
circles. the sky's entirely
cloud, the color of bone; there's a mole
cricket on the picnic
table, there are flashes of familiarity on
the strangers' faces. Places
nobody has never
been. paths of fieldstone pavers
in disrepair. unaccompanied
along memories etched in
granite gravemarkers. greeting
vacancy with presence
and
Form Follows Function
He lifts his glass, takes a sip of
whispers. this
will be the year his
parents die and his washing machine gives out and all
his toenails go
ingrown. the yellowy
light is like a long
moan
from the bulb. he shrugs
forever. the throw
pillows deformed from so much leaning.
Eric Mohrman is a writer living in Orlando, Florida. He's the author of the chapbook
Prospectors (Locofo Chaps, 2017), and his work has appeared in The Citron Review, One Sentence Poems, experiential-experimental-literature, M58, Moss Trill, Gone Lawn, BlazeVOX, Eunoia Review, and other journals.
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