First Look: Machiavelli’s Backyard by David Lohrey

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I just received my proof copy of David Lohrey’s new book Machiavelli’s Backyard from Sudden Denouement Publishing. It is beautiful book. We will have copies available in the next week. It is a very exciting week for SD. I would like to think those who have purchased Rana Kelly’s book Superstition. We will have the Kindle edition available any day now. We will also be giving away copies of both books. Though we have a lot to learn, we are on our way to becoming a serious publisher of divergent literature. This process has been the culmination of a year’s work. It could not have happened without the love and support of so many wonderful writers/editors.

Jasper Kerkau

“Gravity” from Rana Kelly’s Book Superstition from Sudden Denouement Publishing

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“Gravity” from Rana Kelly’s Book Superstition from Sudden Denouement Publishing

“GRAVITY”

My Heart is an Island,
Safe away from society and succor
my Soul is the Sand. Tiny crushed pieces
of earth and skeletons.
Time and death and birth,
endless cycles of
creation and destruction
cushion for your bare feet.
Truly loved and known
Only by the Sea
Surrounding me
See, I am not adrift.
My roots run deep
Under Mariana
And pressured waters
That could crush
Skulls like soft bugs,
The weight that I bear
Hides my core.
It takes millions of all kinds of
Tiny and huge things
Before you can see just my sand
There is no patience
In highways, nor aeroplanes,
I’m here with time.
You may live on me, bury your toes,
Burn your skin,
Cool your fever in my shallows,
Laugh your weekends away
But you go home.
And here I am,
Alone. While my own heart
Pulls in
Pushes out
Intimate only with the far off moon.
And Universal Forces
That are foreign to me.
Do you think it beauty?
Do you think it balm?
I am trapped.
The waves rush in and ebb out
Bring me nothing but vastness
Silence
and
slow erosion.
Yes,
God Knows
My Heart is an Island
My own currents
pull me apart
Drag me under
Drown me.
Enjoy your holiday.

Superstition is available from Amazon and is the first book from Sudden Denouement Publishing. Rana Kelly is the author of the novel Until Her Darkness Goes.

Tokyo Express: Poem from Machiavelli’s Backyard by David Lohrey on SD Publishing

Tokyo Express – David Lohrey

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Tokyo Express

That man there used to be my father.
I recognize those blue-veined arms on that corpse riding the
train with me from Shimokitazawa to Chitose-Funabashi.
That’s the corpse of my father, I swear to God.

I recognize his receding hairline and his pale skin.
It even has curly hair and wears glasses. That’s dad,
all right, sitting there beneath the sign for special seating.
That’s exactly where he’d sit if he were alive.

Dad saw himself as disabled and in some ways he was.
He was an emotional cripple, that’s for sure.
He flew into rages over nothing.

I once got up the courage to point out there were no other cars on the road but he was cursing. He was ranting. He looked out the window and stopped. When I was eleven, he’d have turned around and smacked me on the head. He was always threatening to trounce me.

Dad was a bully. When I was little, mother asked me to get dad an aspirin to go with his pickled herring and his dry martini. Years later, dad once said, “After two martinis, I’m not afraid of anything.” I like that.

Like a lot of monsters, he had a heart of gold. Like Frankenstein and all his monster friends, he scared the neighborhood children but felt lonely. Like many bullies before him, what he needed was a blind man to make
him a cup of tea. It was precisely because people were not blind that he hated them.

Oh, but how well Edward Albee understood him. What he wanted above all else was love: L.O.V.E. Just like an alcoholic, but he didn’t drink. No, his father drank enough for two generations. He once said, “You think you’re a big shot, but you’re nothing but a big shit.” I like that, too. I used to pick cashews out from father’s dish of mixed nuts. Amazingly, it didn’t make him mad. It amused him.
I did that from his lap.

That old Japanese guy sitting across from me reminds me
of my father when he was alive. The old man there looks
very thoughtful, looks intelligent. My father, too, had that look. I wish I did.

That man’s flesh is as white as a frog’s belly, so pale I can see his blue cheesy veins. I could see my father’s, too. It made him look frail. He’d get cross but with no power. He became pathetic, especially when he smelled of urine.

It’s hard to control other people when you stink.
It’s impossible to run the show when you’ve sprung a leak.
It’s hard to frighten your son when you have to wear pampers. Fear goes but love lasts. Now there’s a line for Machiavelli’s Prince. I learned that from my father. Or is it the other way around?

From the forthcoming book of poetry Machiavelli’s Backyard via Sudden Denouement Publishing.

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