Jason Fraley

buckshot, give me
one of several exits
so I can inform
my flesh that I’ll be
leaving soon, not yet,
but I wasn’t welcomed
properly upon arrival-
let me take your
jacket, fedora, those
chopsticks knotted
in your fingers-
why is your hand-
shake sharp, fleeting


buckshot, how about
a nest of fur,
a reliquary defined
by warmth, not
solitude or the fine
taste of one’s own
voice; in short,
a womb & no one
leaves the womb
willingly w/o fire
or some hope
that the light
outside can be dimmed
by eyelashes that
will soon grow in


buckshot, I unearthed
a poem / piece
of manuscript by
an unknown French
peasant, a self-
proclaimed heliotrope,
moss-skinned, acorns
for ears & nose,
who prayed to Helen:
vanishing point, vantage
 point, of which there
 must be several

distance is key,
a trigger causes hills,
adjacent & unseen,
to empty of eyes,
& theories & truths
those eyes may
or may not have seen
flutter away

Jason Fraley works as an investment advisor and compliance officer in Columbus, OH. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Forklift Ohio, No Tell Motel, The Hat, The Pedestal Magazine, Caketrain, and Fifth Wednesday Journal. He has a mini e-chap, Apropos of Nothing, online at Gold Wake Press. He vividly remembers his first front porch. His parents made him stick his hands and feet into the freshly poured concrete to memorialize the house being built. To this day, he does not trust concrete or porches.