HeyJaredPalimpsest
Expect new original poems frequently. I hope for conversations about them.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 16, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 11, 2026
Latest issues
Metamorphosis (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedOn trunks of trees, old brick walls, phone poles, stubs of fenceposts the split shells, dead bulging eyes, legs akimbo, fragile, brittle — cicada shells worn proudly on narrow chests of children laughing under apple trees. Cicadas escape, up up up: enigma of years; fed on tendril-roots, pallid, pale, and cold; buried, changed. High in August apple days, red ruby forehead, emerald abdomen, They rasp and cry; mate, die: accomp
911 -- A Dirge after many years (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedBurdock and ivy, ragweed and dandelion don’t realize what dust nourishes their roots; those tough pale tendrils beside New York City’s sidewalks, clambering up, and downward, reach the dust that fell from sky that day. The harbor’s waters have not forgotten: darkened with dust; debris, oil-slicked, floated; silted, shaped a sheen, covered seaweed, stirred by waves, moved out to sea. Through air’s terrible burden, sun forgot
The Cold War at Coy Elementary School (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWe knew a target when we saw one. Beneath our desks, frisson of terror in our hearts we huddled, hands over necks. Across the street hulking and stinking the huge stained storage tanks, steam rising, clanking and gearing up: Sun Oil Refinery. By three scrub pines, beyond the swings we stash survival gear: half a jar of peanut butter, a table knife slipped up the sleeve and swiped from home; a length of rope. We knew, given h
August in Ohio (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedAugust moves above gold/brown fields of wheat in light and shadow: waves so slow they seem to sleep then suddenly awake like a grandfather snoring in a quiet room can shake a house. She, at the sink, will smile and clatter dishes while he pretends to read or watch tv. So the tired season, wrapped in weeds wilts on roadsides. Burrs ambush the strays limping along roads hot with gravel; sun bakes the stones, melts the tar. It’
Penelope to Odysseus (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThat was no business trip; gone so many years I forgot your face; I forgot the way your back felt beneath my fingers, how the scratches I made marked you mine; I forget the roughness of whiskers, and your heavy step on the doorsill; I forget your wet clothes lying where you tossed them; I forget your snot spraying out whenever you coughed; I forget the way you snored through the long nights of colic when Telemachus spat up u
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