a bit silly. taken laughter seriously. reminiscing upon a mitten. running by cornfields plucking sugarcane, listening to raindrops. a soaked cap, a screaming guitar, insides made of romance. smoky club. rubescent lips. under a table sits a dusty jar, rusty acoustics. eyes bat. legs touch. some say weather is fair. i was traveling inside, down an old pathway, stumbling over emotion. butterflies. unopened feelings. an unzipped sensation. filled with zest, garden verve, a family of hopes. dying there—abused there—too serious there. a stern smile, jagged lines, furious feelings. trees situated, learning life, a carving having to end. an old, long-gone van—a ball as witness, a dirty/filthy garland. i heard mother passed. we couldn’t keep eye contact. we hugged, looking at aftermath, too easy to awaken. feeling left somewhere. fighting desperation. getting lost in my existential. eating cabbage with a carpenter showing much remorse.
Glenn Marchand has an M.A. in Theology from Loyola Marymount University, and finished his requirements in the MFA Creative Writing program at Mount Saint Mary’s University. Marchand is an African American, focused on writing about existential truths, topics seeming apparent, or better, life’s aphorisms. Marchand believes in connectivity, a mystic universe, and the beauty in energy.