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Charles Evans
One More Draw

Smoke ring halos
and ashen hell,
burning deeper with each draw;

Stress dissipated
with exhaled exile,
exhilaration brief;

a Camel ride through
Erebus in search for Elysium.

Charles Evans
Regret

I look back now
and realize you’re not a goddess.
You are a set of lips,
the first set
on a porcelain body.
You are chained pants
and heavy metal,
rocking bass
and butterfly bellies.
You are the swallowed
taste of bitter,
the lingering scent
of regret and lavender.
You are the itch in my palm,
the stain on my suit
that won’t wash away
even with OxiClean.
You are the past
on a pedestal,
the outlining moment
of manhood
etched in a denim jacket.
You were the first
of many things to come.

Charles Evans
Untitled

The stars sit upon the waters,
millions of suns sitting, thickening
rays ephemerally reflect, ponderously
pounding in dreamer’s eyes
wishing lightly for nothing, stodgily
holding desires adrift, heavy
hearts, we carry so often,
when our dreams sink, gravely
as our heads float among the rain clouds ethereally.

Charles Evans, 20, lives in Lovely, Kentucky. Charlie likes to write, play guitar, and hike. “Each kind of coincides with one another,” he says.

 

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