By Gregg Murray


If I, terrified, start
at this memory, it's
where I likewise
end. Garrison:
the switches I
switch, how I cut
the lights in these
rooms. I know how
to swap screens
to a stillborn. When
you surface, I send
the order, through
the ranks, whispers
in the camp, tent
to tent until it reaches
the recruit, fresh
buzzcut, virgin
to the acid of war.
He'll let it on.


Gregg Murray is Assistant Professor of English at Georgia State University, as well as the editor of Muse /A Journal. He has recent poems in Josephine Quarterly, Caketrain, Sou’wester, DIAGRAM, Pank, New South, Birmingham Poetry Review, Carolina Quarterly Review, RealPoetik, alice blue, Horse Less, Phantom Drift, decomP magazinE, Berkeley Poetry Review, Quiddity International, LEVELER, Free State Review, The Mondegreen, Spittoon, Menacing Hedge, Midway, interrupture, and elsewhere. Gregg also has a chapbook, Ceviche, from Spittoon Press.

© 2016