Midsummer Dream House

 

Is This

Brains get rewired all the time; night is when it happens,
mostly; I’m in years, realistic as dirt, asphalt, caked-over
orgasms; hearts as grotesque as real hearts, sticky plump
biology as in bravery; see, aorta and veins & skin tectonics
all remember, jump at love & the idea of life like in music
when notes jump / Tell me the real deal, in cupped hands,
old alcoholics’ breath; a congregation loosely connected,
tied, “love-shaped,” by short gasps of kindness in eyes,
patience; tenderness & if not a burning, then a glowing,
soft-cockled, ventricular anti-desperation in time: rising.

 

Poetry by Alex Russell

 

 

Alex Russell is a writer and designer based out of Northern Virginia. He loves visiting art museums, collecting physical media, and spending time with his cat. Originally from Ukraine, he dreams of an early retirement in Mexico City. He is on Tumblr @wernerherzogshave