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2 poems

In a stretch of amber water some call the swamps of Florida, a man longs for the home he has always lived in, a long-muscled wave tossing between shores, the quarter mile of liquid he knows as if he were the watchman of its vein.

Kin Stories

Once he mistook a prostitute for a hitchhiker, and twice he has invited genies into his truck. All three asked him the same thing: “What do you want? More than anything? I can give it to you.”
rimbaud

I have touched, you know, fantastic Floridas
Arthur Rimbaud // The Drunken Boat

An Interview with Dan Lopez

I was writing a book that was greatly influenced by the Southern Gothic tradition of depicting moral or social decay through physical houses, so in light of all that it felt like a natural fit to place the book in Florida...
stevensclean2

There will never be an end
To this droning of the surf.
Wallace Stevens // Fabliau of Florida

An Excerpt from Worthy

Here around Tampa sometimes Leo and I have been on a horseback ride. We love animals and sight of hay and dirt, even if we don’t have skill for riding. Down Brandon Way, past all the supermarkets and dollar discounts and Kentucky Chicken drive-ups, there is pastures and quiet country.

Full Moon in Chekika

A night of no-kill python hunting in the Everglades with Tom Rahill, founder of the Swamp Apes—a volunteer group using wilderness therapy to aid military veterans dealing with PTSD.

Resurrection, or: The Story Behind the Failure of the 2003 Radio Salsa 98.1 Semi-Annual Cuban and/or Puerto Rican Heritage Festival

Jesenia juts out her lips as she runs her tongue over her teeth. She probably tastes chalk—she wrinkles her face at the tang of it. She does not answer the nun, but stands and walks to the arched entrance of the church. She cups her hand and says, I’m so totally sorry but I’m freaking gonna die if I don’t. She leans down, drinks from the holy water.