HeyJaredAutumn Bones
A cacophony of prose and poetry, thoughts mixed with dirt and stirred with sticks.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 28, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 2, 2026
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A Poem (opens the original)
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You wait, sitting at the frayed edges of thingssalty cotton corner of yesterday's dress worn again and slipping a little closer onto my skinyou are treading the periphery I can hear youI cannot see youyet I must not (dare not) look too hard for there is stilla false god in the way of youI want to sit a while along the borders of your bodyand feel that familiar tugtowards your depthsI am called to you again and againsome days, I hold out wait until the evening when it is dark and quiet and
Hungry for Leftovers (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Begin, and cease, and then again begin Listen! out in the tranquil bay we are the pebbles of human misery which the waves draw back, and fling we hear only the edges of this distant naked certitude vast and slow The eternal note of sadness let us be like a land of dreams Swept along the melancholy shore <a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://subs
Limbic Brain (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedLimbic Brain I can turn the stillness over in my hands like a thickly cut coin. This slow, woolen darkness the soft weaving her eight limbs. My slumber is her waking.
Everything is looking at something else. (opens the original)
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Black pinpricks in the face of a lizard, licked clean by a tongue, thousands of eyes, a spider, looking, spinning, hunting prey, the eyes of prey, flashing blue, then green, in the light of the predator, torch light, man-made eyes glaring at the world, wide eyes, disbelief as the shockwaves of the future spread out before us, as wild eyes close forever, some eyes close and never open again all eyes close and open and then they close for the last time, when will my eyes close, when will yours, wh
So The Sky is Like a Footstep (opens the original)
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Perhaps, I’ve gotten it all wrong. Before this morning, before today, before I actually looked and saw my life and it’s strange sway like a kelp forest, like the tip top leaves of tall, tall trees, like a place that is mine to call home, no contract needed, this skin is enough and this breathing body is my reason. This world is the ground beneath my feet. Feet full of blood and feeling and swirling and dreaming. Feet made for storming out of buildings, out of other people’s homes, out beyond the
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