Liar, by E. F. Schraeder

Two truths and a lie, two lies and a truth.
Even now, I can’t decipher the lines of a face
or distinguish one mood or another.

Nothing predicts fight or flight,
fist or fuck, once life and death
skinny dip in the same pool.

You don’t have to silence me.
I’m still as a corpse.

Like the wings of the dead bird,
this heart refuses to beat. See there?
How the organ won’t spark to any attention?

The brain stalls. Years of bad guidance
like malware infected the hard drive.

Keep playing.
Don’t worry if you forget the rules.
There aren’t any.

Author of a poetry chapbook, Schraeder holds an interdisciplinary Ph.D., teaches and works at a library part time. Schraeder’s work has appeared in Dark Moon Digest, Allegro, Four Chambers, Glitterwolf, Slink Chunk Press, Hoax, the HWA Poetry Showcase, vol. III, and other journals and anthologies.  Find more online at

Posted on December 21, 2016, in Issue 19: Speculative Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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