Four Poems // Will Demick

2 September 2018

“Epicycle 1”

All the follicles &

Blossoms of pores,

The webbing of fingers

And corners of mouths not yet op’d

Stretch - and yawn;

Moved the sun across our eyelids with

Pan puppeteers. The clouds on the hill

Dance for unseen players as

A hand strays between the fire

And this young face.

Our laugh lines are visible like old hedgerows.

Demarcate the time that has passed,

Like the clouds that be-freckle the roof,

Or the hand that shakes between a lamp

And this old face.

Fireflies are breeding in unknown nooks,

Near latter summer fields unplucked.

They sing the old chorus;

Life is dying to change.

& stranger skies in older days

Will light our little grave.

27 October 2018


He would take in the stars could he grasp them,

Would massage every muscle of the Leo

Hold firm the chiton of Orion and the gowns of Virgo

Would fill his lungs with the breath of lovers

That he could breathe out and give life to another.

Would lose himself in his skin, and their skin.

But shame colors him then,

And shame colors him then.

Takes him underneath the arm and hoists him up on the cross

And he bleeds from his wounds

As embarrassment rushes blood to his cheeks,

Poor soul; and he weeps.

The drink brought it out,

This fraternity and love.

The drink brought it out

And those around him are without

The drink that brought it out,

And he should die for his sin.

But he doesn’t.

He wakes with the next stars.

He walks through the next streets

And the streets pay him no heed.

He finds shade in the next leaves

And the leaves give themselves freely.

And why should he feel this shame,

This man that would engulf the sky in love?

He sits alone in his room,

Wishing his fingers could caress

The velvet and mammalian warmth

Of his night sky.

11 November 2018


I saw the stars again last night.

I walked beneath them and craned my neck.

So rare to see them now.

Do you see them,

Where you lay your head?

Do you hear the call,

That billion-year hydrogen

Shining through a void

To alight on your iris?

Though it was cold

And though

You walked beside me

Yet I could not feel

the cold,

Nor our death binding

Till you called to me to

follow you

Through dead leaves.

15 November 2018

“Epicycle 2”

How did her smile shatter the firmament he held so dear?

Why these semantic connections between skin and disparate stars;

Those same stars that light a rotted home,

That sing “glory, glory, I fucking knew it”

To the near-deaf ears of the Earth,

Amidst the rumbling of our collaborative mean.

One needn’t listen to hear it,

That human mean;

That collapsed down the stairs ass-hurt and laughing,

That tells us the way to tell others to be,

How to avoid being what we tell,

And tattles on us all the same to those who listen.

That human mean which flows through the air,

Disturbing every blossom-length and branch until it

Stings our timpani and epiretinal convulsions

Create scarlet sensuous lettering, semaphore, scripture,

& slippered veins shuffling across farmhouse floors

To emerge with the same message.

While still above the bottomless light is,

That echoes through the heaving dark.

How can we so depreciate that sky as to attach fingernail

Meanings to meaningless it?

How did we let human skin grow on eternity?

And how did her smile shatter the firmament he held so dear?


Will Demick is an irreverent literary scholar and historian who occasionally creates music, art, and other scribblings. He lives in Salem, MA, where he can often be found struggling to afford the cost of living in Salem, MA.


"Yume" by Alex Stroup





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