© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 

March 5, 2018

But before I could be compelled to listen to the 
echoes calling me further.
A rider and his horse
galloped along the trail.
The presence of the him and his horse silenced the echoes, 
and he asked how I ended up there.
I wished I had an answer,
but I wasn’t sure.

March 5, 2018

Whenever I am alone,

Be it in the morning,

Just when the top of the golden sun Peaks over the North Adams mountain tops,

As I sip on the bitter bliss

That coffee brings me;

Or in the afternoon,

When I take a deep breath in,

And note the October air

Which smells...

March 5, 2018

On this page I’ve placed words. 

Your first impulse is to fall in love with them 

as they are considered ‘poetry.’ 

They are inherently imitations 

due to their appearance on paper.


The other day I wound up at this new gallery in town. I kept looking...

March 5, 2018

She feels sick.
Kneeling before the porcelain throne, 
She widens the space between mandible and maxilla 
And lets cuticles press into frantic uvula. 
It pour from the floodgates: 
Gastric acid, falcarinol, carbohydrates, corn syrup. 
A biology major, she dropped out w...

March 5, 2018

How would I like to sail across the ocean blue, 

one last time before my eyes shut. 

I never would’ve thought that I would ever set sail, 

or how I would have wanted to.


At night it was harder to see, 

and the shores were rocky. 

So instead of adventure, 

I k...

March 5, 2018

I saw strange things through my journey to get here.

I went through mysterious places of

twisted trees and smoke-filled flowers.

The sky was ice at night, and fire during the day. 

Men carried themselves with their backs hunched over, 

women carried their souls wi...

March 5, 2018

The boy in Venezuela, wiser than his years, learning 

to draw from the twisted skulls of his father’s 

tattoo parlor. His hope burns bright blue.


Shacked up inside, safe from his peers smashing 

Buenos Aires. Shattered-

his family strewn across two Americas. 


March 5, 2018

I want to write ‘this is mine’ in your skin. 
Stain it purple and red so it stands out. 
Sign it with the indentations of canines and incisors,
Just above your collarbone. 
And when it fades, 
I’ll do it again.
Burst all the vessels into webs and claims,
Under your jaw...

March 5, 2018

You’re like the creeping frost that outlines my windows; 
Beautiful, tenuous, and undoubtedly cold. 
Statuesque limbs and broad shoulders, 
With words of war painted into your brow, 
And the faded red of revenge still dripping from your lips.