Jack Doverspike

Joined September 2018

4 stories

Stories (4)

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To Sleep with No Bed
In the armpit of the beige point, east of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, there was a camp of bums. Of myself and
By Jack Doverspike7 years ago in Poets
To Step Around
Heads hang in the rain, we seem to walk forward without looking, all we can see are the puddles we step around. Imagine you had eye contact with a stranger,
By Jack Doverspike7 years ago in Poets
Hourglass
Time slobbered on the kitchen table like wet rice, The almighty god drooped down the branches Of dead trees and lengthened absurdity,
By Jack Doverspike7 years ago in Poets
Dream Interlude
Face pale, on a quilt of journals: some open, some closed, like checkerboards. Black and white is the face and hair, somewhere in between is the desk’s pigment. Blacked out on a stack of books, with eyes closed—but half open—drooped to the end of the spines. Sore to the point of screaming when standing. I go deeper into dream flashes, I jolt and the wood shakes.
By Jack Doverspike7 years ago in Poets