There are no birds in this poem: no poets were damaged in its creation, although that would be no great loss. If your lover malfunctions, make sure there is no fire in the nether cavity, or you may need to reboot. If your heart is broken, try suede or clean, oiled full grain thigh-highs. When you wake in tangled bedding from dreams of bog-bursts and lost lovers submerged and glossy like black birds. When you make love in the back of an old hearse, you will be bitten, new pain will open and drip unto the floorboard. When you fall for your friends, they will love you anyway but you’ll need air for the fresh flora in your lungs. For love pains, take ibuprofen but don’t call in the morning. Notice that there are no swallows or magpies in the poem. Wonder why.
-- C. Derick Varn is a poet, teacher, and theorist. He currently edits for Former People. He has a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry at Georgia College and State University where he served as assistant editor for Arts and Letters: A Journal of Contemporary Arts. He has served as managing editor for the now defunct Milkwood Review. He won the Frankeye Davis Mayes/Academy of American Poets Prize in 2003 and his poetry has appeared at Unlikely Stories 2.0, Full of Crows, Writing Disorder, JMWW, Clutching at Straws, Xenith, Piriene’s Fountain, and elsewhere. He currently lives in Mexico, and recently moved from South Korea. Originally from the deep South of the United States. He lives in Northern Mexico as a lecturer and teacher on Ethics, Composition, and Intercultural communication. He taught both University and high school in South Korea and the States as well. He lives with his partner, and a bunch of books, and writes at night.