Register Friday | April 12 | 2024

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.

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