The Wolves

David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in rainy Manchester in England, and after spending most of the 1970s in Vienna he moved to Arizona. Since arriving in Phoenix he has pursued his writing, and been active in various capacities in the poetry world. The Bitter Oleander Press recently published his translations from the poetry […]

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in California

in the alley Where feral cats live I saw a raccoon creeping in the garbage Survivor Wish I could feel anger sound low in the chest to act on this but I’m identifying with the smallest creatures Where feral cats live a person is a metaphor Oh it gets so lonely When you’re walking And […]

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Out of the Museum

You realized your pain isn’t the only pain worth knowing after a slick rock flipped one hundred times in your pocket and landed on heads. How far did you travel to meet that medium: your hands in the clay of your making? Compressed so hot, change was the only thing you could see, fiery planet […]

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A Letter to the Men I Know

I really apologize for the way I’ve acted around you lately. Sometimes I feel like I must look like I’m drowning, looking for the nearest life raft to save me. Let’s start here first– that is not fair for me to do to you. You are not a white knight and I’ve never been a […]

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