Register Thursday | September 24 | 2020

Advil Calls the Aches Home

New poetry from Andrew Faulkner.

High above the asphalt morning: a murmur of clouds.

Rail tracks run like two straight thoughts.


The commuter train arrives with a thunk-a-

thunk that paves me over. Like the heart’s

 

fleshy balm—be better, 

be better—it goes where it goes.


In my skull, nothing’s quite where I left it.

A marble rolls around, an outcome


when the outcome is unknown. 

I too want to be parallel. Believe me 


when I say that what I have and want 

are different but not incompatible.


The morning lays its long hand on my face,

a hopeful spot in the mind’s airy patterns.


The breeze finger-puppets a slight of trees.

Light seesaws which way. 


I take two Advil and call 

the aches home,


count each blistered head

as they pass through the gate.


Subscription Required!

Already have a subscription? Try logging in.