Great Expectations

I’m afraid of getting my soul sucked. I’ve had my soul sucked. Have you had your soul sucked? Where did you get your soul sucked? Who sucked your soul and why did they suck your soul? Soul sucking is voluntary. And sometimes involuntary. How many souls have you sucked? How many people have sucked your soul? When will you stop sucking souls? Do you want to stop sucking souls? When did you first start sucking souls? Do you prefer sucking souls or having your soul sucked? If soul sucking stopped tomorrow what would you suck? Would you stop sucking? What was your favourite soul suck? What is your average soul suck? How many soul sucks do you prefer per day? How many souls can you suck at one time? When you suck a soul how do you feel before and after? When you have your soul sucked do you think of sucking someone else’s soul? What do you think about when sucking a soul or having your soul sucked?


I am an ancient Irish monk. In a cave. Bent over ancient books copying copying copying. & the waves are crashing on sharp rocks below me. This is all very romantic but I am in a lab. Full of the light of scientific reasoning. The light overhead on the ceiling is shining on my iPad. This is called glare. When the light is glaring at you you have to squint. You become myopic. When my iPad turns off it is smudged. There are traces of many fingerprints. Our fingers are getting faster and faster. This is the evolution of Homo Sapiens. What a strange creature. Soon we will go into the machine. The machine will ask different questions. I don’t know what kind of questions. This poem is for the machines.

Swan's Way

My pillow takes on a creamy surface. Like a swan. Swans are sensual creatures. Soft swans. Velvet swans. A swan comforter to snuggle into for cold winters. Some folks rub the ribs. Some folks rub the glass. The table. The counter. The blades around the shoulder. Some folks rub out. Some folks rub in. Some folks rub down and up. Some folks rub up and down. Some folks rub around. I rub my swan.

Marcus Slease

Marcus Slease is a writer and performer from Portadown, N. Ireland. He is the author of eight books from micro presses. Most recently Rides from Bart Press and Mu (dream) So (window) from Poor Claudia. His writing has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, featured in the Best British Poetry series, translated into Polish and Danish, and has appeared, or is forthcoming, in many literary journals and anthologies in the U.K., Ireland, U.S., Norway, and Poland including: Tin House, Poetry, Fence, Sprung Formal, and Conduit. Currently, he lives in Madrid (Spain) as an English teacher and is working on a new collection of flash fictions and prose poems.


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