Les Revenants

Amee Nassrene Broumand


Phantoms seem trivial at first—
a rumpled coat
an umbrella
a photograph trampled
under the press of soles.

Yet ghosts become inimical in time,
ruptures within the skull. Daybreak—

a carrion fly. The proboscis quickens,
making mincemeat of my peace.
Dragons ripple the mind’s horizon,
whipping the stratosphere. Lip smacks
elicit restive pain, the red wick
of madness—
sunlight reels, coiling back
into the chasm.

Propped by the curb, discarded snakes
& cardboard gods.

Nothing makes sense anymore—
mudskippers wander the ecliptic
in violet pockets
& filaments of gold,
evoking the inherent terror of quiet things.




Amee Nassrene Broumand is an Iranian-American poet from the Pacific Northwest. Nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize, her work has appeared in FIVE: 2:ONE, Sundog Lit, The Ginger Collect, Empty Mirror, Menacing Hedge, Barren Magazine, & elsewhere. She served as the March 2018 Guest Editor for Burning House Press. Find her on Twitter @AmeeBroumand.