GUARDIAN ANGEL
His guardian angel must
have been packing some
serious heat, must have had
a small arsenal and enough
ammo to take out a small
army secured beneath her
flowing black robes.
She used a flaming sword
instead of head lamps to show
the way on dark, moonless nights
patrolling the deserts of his
life, a life that was soon-to-be
a ravaged wasteland
of stripped malls, gutted wild
animals hunted for their tusks,
their fur, then discarded and
left to rot beside lost pitted
highways that lead South
into the unknown.
This blog is the successor to the poetry section of the now no longer existing The Argotist Online. Send submissions to argotistonline@gmail.com. Due to the large number of submissions, only those accepted can be replied to.
Poems by Alan Catlin
THE BLIND TOPOLOGIST'S ALGEBRAIC PROBLEM is laid out on foolscap, representative numbers, theorems raised as lumps on parchment for well...
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THE STUDIO The vista which then opened was one I never could’ve anticipated in the Nineties—the PAFA campus was set as a series of jeweled b...
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Novel Lines 101: 101 alphabetical poems, each riffing on the opening line of a postmodern novel or metafiction. Antonio Lobo Antunes, Act o...
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AN ELYSIAN GLOW Following her through shady pines on a summer’s day, as if in the hope of a sudden trackless miracle, the young man trips an...