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Ed O’Casey

Ed O’Casey was born on the border of the Shire, well within sight of the Eye of Sauron. He was raised by Dungeons & Dragons and Robotech, but he still manages to comprehend reality. He lives in New Mexico with his wife and daughter, and when he has time, he plays either video games or music. His poems have appeared in Danse Macabre, Wilderness House Literary Review, Northern Liberties Review, and South 85.

Origin Stories

Wood is made of fire.
Fire is made of ash.

People are made of many things:
love, betrayal, broken wishes—

but mostly maggots.
The mind is built from theories

of thermodynamics and relationships between
disparate objects: butterflies and hurricanes,

houses made of clay
and digital photo manipulation,

God and the invention
of the consciousness of tension.

And of course, women are made of children;
pens made of poetry; men,

of atmospheric disturbances—

Repetition Is the Death of Art (ii)

You can’t hear it     but the lilac
the orchid even the whore daisy
open and say     please
come     take my sex

Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be considered nothing more than the mechanism of conception you might be highly rewarded     do you think the flowers would say that anything could serve a higher purpose would your produce taste any different

We do not understand
the question: explain
how it’s possible to feel
the loss of one

You question obedience because you have always wondered what a clean bedroom is for     would you reconsider if your hamper was the only living place new children could unfold into the world

When she calls, we do not question
bring nectar     bring nectar
bring pollen     bring nectar
there is no I in hive

The flowers know     we know
even the ants seem to know
you could stop this obsession with cloning
yourselves     if you all
simply had the same mother

She would be     very loving
though you would see her

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