Andrew Clark


(for Lem)


Wherever there is light, look for the shadow. The shadow is me.

                        – Anais Nin



                                slackjaw              creeping through the trees

                                                                                down the mountain

                                slackjaw               moving over the surface

                                                                                of the deep

                                the|mob              chased the clown down the trees

                                                                                through the mountains

                                                                out of the hollows

                                                                                out into the flatland

                                                                till the red dirt                  

                                                                                and pine needle floors

                                slackjaw               found the very edge of the everything                                  

                                                                                and crossed over






                i was born at first cock crow

                {peter denied christ six times}

                i was born in a white out

                swaddled in blue

                stripe white blankets

                nurses laid (us) on the yellow table

                & the elders ate

                                                all (our) fruit | inside out


                mama never forgave me (for)

                Lem’s passing on that table

                mama never forgave

                all the scarecrows | a dark flame

                                                in the corn field snow



                                                my twin brother,

                                                daddy’s missing rib

                                                baby in an unmarked grave

                                                behind the old freewill baptist church

                                                where bad girls showed me their private


                                                parts out under the monkey bars.

                                                people said i choked him out


                                                my big brother

                                                by 7 minutes

                                                but i never done it

                                                never had to





a wound

                                                                                that eats all my

insides out

                                                                                the way the



along the





Andrew K. Clark is a writer from Asheville, NC. His poetry collection, Jesus in the Trailer, was published by Main Street Rag Press. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, UCLA’s Out of Anonymity, Appalachian Review, Rappahannock Review, and The Wrath Bearing Tree. Connect with him at andrewkclark.com.