May 7-13, 2012: David Chorlton and William Cullen, Jr.

week of May 7-13, 2012

David Chorlton and William Cullen, Jr.

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David Chorlton
rdchorlton@netzero.com

Bio (auto)

David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in England, and spent several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in1978. Over three decades, he has become ever more drawn into the landscapes of Arizona, both physically and in his poetry. Despite this, his newest book is a work of fiction with its origins in 1960s Vienna: The Taste of Fog, from Rain Mountain Press.

The following work is Copyright © 2012, and owned by David Chorlton and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Faces

Fransisco Renteria’s life seems not
to be happening to him
if we believe his smile, the careless
hat tilting toward his left ear
and a scar that covers up an itch
crawling across his cheek. But Hilario Hidalgo
knows damn well
there won’t be an appeal, even
as he rolls his version of the story
on his tongue behind
closed lips. While his friend makes light
of the situation, he’s ready to hang,
and that the victims deserved
what happened to them is shown
in a drop of light crossing
the iris of his eye.

Mission Nights

The mission’s priest completes
one day’s list of baptisms and deaths
before taking down the whip
from its hook on the wall
beside the window in his cell
where the wind passes through
and he feels its many tails.



 William Cullen, Jr.
bill_cullen_99@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

William Cullen, Jr., is a veteran and works at a non-profit in Brooklyn, NY. He’s married and has two college-age sons. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Boston Literary Magazine, Camroc Press Review, Christian Science Monitor, Gulf Stream, Pirene’s Fountain, Spillway and Wild Goose Poetry Review. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2010.

The following work is Copyright © 2012, and owned by William Cullen, Jr. and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Icarus Redivivus

I watch my son fall
flying high on his drugs
and imagine him
crashing on his mother’s grave
trying to reach her in heaven.