Allen Seward

brain stew

it worms its way in, the thought,
and feels like a
lump of meat, and feels like a
bruised peach;
 
it might just be a brain, I don’t know,
that slimy library
where people stack parts of books,
and cook philosophies,
and
formulate god;
 
it’s a spilled bowl, though,
a wet spot,
a “none may enter” dark place;
 
that plant in the too-small pot,
too far from the window,
 
that song on a loop smacking the walls;
 
it’s not made of anything, really,
it all
just sits there and whines.
 
 

Allen Seward is a poet from the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia. His work has appeared in Scapegoat Review, DEDpoetry, JAKE, Pandemonium Journal, miniMAG, and Skyway Journal, among others. He currently resides in WV with his partner and four cats.