The Mouse River by Frank Reardon

The Mouse River wants a life
today. Stones, mud, branches are not enough.
It doesn’t want words, prefers to pulverize,
swallow midnights and grind stars
underneath — sparkle the depths.
Old grain factories
a mile around the dead weed bend
with eyeless rivets and rusted steel,
the empty guard tower of forgotten workers
picked defeat over fight:
Open mouths burned the evidence.
Walk in, rapid says. Be cold. Forget the pen.
Be decay. Lose mind to hysteria.
Become thought not words.
Back home the pork loin slow cooks.
Her mind: one thousand miles away,
locked in violence.
We are born this way.

frank-reardon
Frank Reardon was born in 1974 in Boston, Massachusetts, and currently lives in Minot, North Dakota. Frank has published poetry and short stories in many reviews, journals and online zines. His first poetry collection, Interstate Chokehold, was published by NeoPoiesis Press in 2009 as well as his second poetry collection Nirvana Haymaker in 2012. His third poetry collection Blood Music was published by Punk Hostage Press in 2013. In 2014 Reardon published a chapbook with Dog On A Chain Press titled The Broken Halo Blues. Frank is currently working on more short fiction.
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