by Wayne Johns
Abandoned Duplex
What but us suffers from not being touched?
Like matter eclipsed, empty space alters light.
Emptiness also alters sight. Don’t forget
how he looked at you with lust and disdain.
Still filled with lust and disdain, you forget
faking love in a room slowly filling with snow.
Two men making love in a room full of snow,
seeking solace in a house made of candy.
A house made of candy, with busted windows,
a Posted sign that warned you not to enter.
The sign warned: Danger. Do not enter.
Lust is a building under renovation.
A building under renovation is lust.
Nothing but us suffers from lack of touch.
From the judge, Richard Blanco:
A phenomenal example of the duplex poetic form, Abandoned Duplex imbeds itself in our psyches like an incantation, a chant, a prayer, a song.
Poet Wayne Johns’ work has appeared in Ploughshares, Image, Prairie Schooner, and Story South, as well as Best New Poets, Poetry Daily, and Verse Daily. He is the author of Antipsalm (Unicorn Press), The Exclusion Zone (Rane Arroyo chapbook prize from Seven Kitchens Press), and An Invisible Veil Between Us (Frank O’Hara chapbook award). A former Lambda Literary fellow in fiction, he lives in Greensboro, NC with his husband and two rescue dogs.
Artist Taber Falconer holds an MFA in poetry from Texas State University. Her visual art is forthcoming in Chicago Quarterly Review. This work was created in Central Texas, where she previously lived. She now resides in Tennessee.
Gulf Stream Magazine 