Dirty Laundry/Elevation/Kafka/News Ticker/Take the Buffaloes Away – Poems by E.A. FELIU

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Dirty laundry


My first edition of Humboldt’s Gift

careens by your black shoes,

a feeble contribution to the din

of rods and reels on the E-Z chair,

collared by leashes and a wooden


trout net. I’ve grown tentacles,

seeding the house with books,

typewriters, cameras, vinyl

and enough fly-fishing gear

to open a shop, The Bamboo Lounge,                 


which is what you call the living room.

We thrive on complicity: your panties

and bras on the floor, towels on the bed;

my heaped books and dirty dishes,

ashtray spilling near the patio door.


Surrounded, we surrender,

leaving the dishes for tomorrow,

the hedges for another day;

nourishing the chaos of domesticity,

we’ve found song, time to dance,


today can’t wait.




Coming in from the pond

with hip waders, camo pants

and a black t-shirt, hair mussed,

redolent of mud, cigarettes, tules

and the bass I didn’t catch,

weaving between tree shadows

abstracted by ghost light,

undressing my darkness.




Last bend home

exclamated halt

at the stoplight.

I skipped The Trial.

Then remembered ending.

It was The Castle I shelved

last trip to Prague.

I considered an Oliver

the one you used, birdlike.

Type misaligned

bugs erasing a leaf.

Bought a pen set

and glasses instead.

Your paragraphs

stone upon stone

near the arms border.

You perch on your diaries.

Bole is darker by roots.

I change typewriters

to capture your voice

inky script your manuscript.


News ticker


I’m covered in cow blood.

What is it that looking good hides?

Why are the clouds disappearing?

You’re a whale. Your smile is empty.

How many balloons have you found?

I’m invisible, and yet

the world changes, a moth.

You’re a part of me,

the most elegant clock.

Pinch my nipples, atomic weapons.


Take the buffaloes away


That bird is a fake:

Orioles don’t drink

Oreo espresso.

Someday you’ll understand

St. Louis in a linen suit.

A novel is a train

with terrific tomatoes.

Is that a cactus blush?

I don’t need to listen

to the tales in your gown.

Snoring, I drown.

The arts committee

can’t turn me down.


E.A. Feliu

E.A. Feliu is an author, artist and journalist who lives in San Diego, CA. He studied and taught English literature in Rome, Italy, where he collaborated with artists, composers and other poets, including Desmond O’Grady and Anthony Lawrence. He is the author of Postcards from the Tattooed Man’s Chest. He is working on Handlining Telegraphs, a book of tankas, and a yet untitled collection.

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