3 new poems from Thomas Klodowsky


Fighting symptoms, while draped in burgundy,
on a bed with nothing to do but think

        no, nothing to do but to think out loud,
        on what it’s like to end up a corpse

yeah, to end up as a lonely corpse,
one that pushes up little daisies

        a cadaver pushing up precious lilies,
        which bloom vibrant, nourished, from my dead sweat

in my dead sweat so vibrant they blossom,
as if they just left their mother’s womb

        we exited mother’s womb with a holler,
        but quiet from the dirt those flowers arose

and once we wilt, into the dirt we go,
remains draped in burgundy, fighting symptoms.


I got lost in the eyes of a dead dog,
who curiously resembled my own mutt

     indistinguishable, the two were,
     though there’s no way they were one and the same

but perhaps they once shared a body?
this carcass laid with the posture of Max

      belly down, back legs splayed just like Max,
      but I don’t believe for a second it’s him

and won’t believe for a lifetime it was him,
ravaged with sickness on the exam table

     last, labored breaths on that exam table,
     before the pained look of suffering ended

our gaze met one final time; without suffering,
and I got lost in the eyes of a dead dog.


I fit all my possessions into a box,
and hauled them off to brave new walls

      they came out of the blue, these brave new walls,
      at the behest of my surrogate mother

the request of my new surrogate mother,
otherwise known to the tongue as girlfriend

      from the tip of my tongue she rolls off, sunlight,
      as without her my world would cease to spin

my brave new world would cease all movement,
like a jazz players’ union had gone on strike

      the eyes of those picketing saxophonists,
      unmasking a new remorseful shade of blue

blue tears contained in cardboard and masking tape,
I fit all my possessions into a box.

Bio: Thomas Klodowsky is a writer, and instructor at Rowan University in Glassboro, New Jersey. When not writing, he's usually behind the wheel of his dream car, a 2016 Kia Soul.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1


  1. “yeah, to end up as a lonely corpse,
    one that pushes up little daisies” This line is genius. I love it. Such a multi-layered nature to what you wrote. I like how it encourages laughter which is an act of companionship in and of itself, and a “medication” sorry I am drug addict and think automatically of drugs or a substance every time I am talking about curing something.

    I don’t know if the whole piece is supposed to read as a collection about transcendence of pain. I read it that way, being a progression from symptoms to the animal nature to getting rid of possessions, but I read it that way, excellent work here by paring the whole thing this way.

    To the piece on the dog, this speaks to your knowledge of the dialectic in which you write, or innate wisdom, either way genius of the work because the pairing reads as if you are trying to help the reader get to a higher level of thought through getting rid of personal demons and in so doing transcending self and achieving enlightenment which you share with a reader, right now me. Thank you, more than you know.

    I like your line that likens the mother to the new girlfriend, excellent Shakespeare reference, which sets your piece into the dialectic again, because it is genius.

    The idea of transcendence through music is a common theme in this line of conversation, as well. Loved this.

    You are an excellent writer, do not lose hope. I would miss your voice, it is very unique, and I needed to read this which is why I spent time analyzing it.

    Thank you so much. You brought me joy.


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