Scry

My poem, Scry, is in the current issue of Waymark Literary Magazine (Kennesaw State University). Here is a link:

and here is the poem:

Scry

An awful night—alone with 

that All Soul’s crew

on the third floor of the dorm.

A half-dozen wanna be witches 

and warlocks

dressed to kill Cock Robin 

yet looking more malnourished 

then wicked.

I was stoned—

when wasn’t I stoned,

and on a diet 

of Southern Comfort 

for its medicinal benefits,

when they broke out 

the Ouija board.

They dimmed

the lights for fear

that ancient dorm room

at twilight

might not be creepy enough—

and yes, I shoulda been

laughing my ass off

but this was 1968

and I couldn’t keep up

with the constant 

parade of sorrows.

They linked hands 

and slid a heart-shaped block

around the board

as if possessed—

perhaps they were.

And it didn’t take them

long at all

to declare me

a walking dead man.

And yes, I knew it

for hooey,

but I spent that night

walking the ice-strewn streets

trying to convince myself

I’d be alive tomorrow—

that I wanted to be alive tomorrow.

I was only a kid then,

you know,

and had 

lost my way. 

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