3 am people// funny dreams
for Oi! Substack - the amazing scrapper of a publication. So excited for your future!
hear the transformers
hum up on the telephone
poles - northern star on
the endless slog thru
bottomless fog
wine & whiskey swirl
in your soul like the
last summer winds
picking up stray greenery
out on the autumn horizon
you remember the first
time you had communion how
strange it was to feel the
red burn down the throat how
the minister immediately
after railed against the
sin of drunkenness, how
public intoxication is a
slight against The Lord how
funny it was you caught a solid fucking
buzz for the first time at 15 at
a sleepaway Bible summer camp
how that was also the same
night you listened to the words
in your head the Holy Word said
was so wrong how you should
want to be married to a
woman so you can have good
Christian kids how you & the
cute emo twink same age as you who missed
Minneapolis so much you
learned as you commiserated
over a love of MCR, horror
movies, and The Simpsons took
your hand slipped behind the
mess hall and you made
out so passionate so
tender so overwhelmed with
the warmth you didn't know
lived in this miserable Deep South
heat & hate Praise the
Lord//I saw the light and
then it was all possible and
then it was beautiful and
now and now it's and now it's
nothing out here for
the lonesome like you
nothing out here for
those who only ever
smile when it's all gone to shit
starlight bleeding with
downtown haze into
thick glut of slow
beauty - almost enough
to ignore the alcohol flooding
down your spine
the morning will
be agony (always
are) & memories of
the night will be
painful
(always are)
but now home stretch
is found underfoot - grin
like jackass eating briars
as you drink in the
warm glow of the
front porch you're so
happy you remembered
to switch on before heading
down the hill to another
swing at hollow joys &
trying failing at even the
most simple interactions
(“hun, if you want, you
can just point at what
you want on the menu.”)
but the pain the cold the
TV static void all just
falls away
when you see that
light that box gable
roof with the old
stove pipe chimney
roosted on the tippy top
you smile
little old thing
left in the
backwoods to
be forgotten to
.
waste away -
your kindred
spirit in old wood
& river stone a
totem of squirrled away bliss
rain starts in just as
your foot lands on
the porch - owl song wafts
out the quaking aspens the
ponderosa pines
you smile genuinely
smile for the first time
in a dog's age - sweet dumb bird,
breathe. you're fine you're safe.
welcome home.
Clem Flowers
Clem Flowers (Any/All) is an Non-binary poet, low rent aesthete, osha violation corvid enby, and generally queer as hell AuDHD cryptid, with 8 chapbooks and a full length book of poetry. multiple BOTN & Pushcart Prize nominations. Found on Twitter @clem_flowers & on Bluesky at clemflowers.bsky.social. They live with their wonderful husband & darling calico kitty out in a desert valley.
Why this Knocked Taylor Out:
I will be the first to admit I am not a long poem girlie, like I truly have a difficult time with poems longer than a page, but the heart in this poem is just, hard to ignore. The tension between queerness and the deep south is one that will always resonate with me. I'm also deeply impressed with the intersection of moments of humor and heart. So well done.
And to be clear, craft is carried through every level of this poem. It’s so rare to see a poem in quintets that carries any kind of energy. The shorter line lengths help with this, but so does the punch of many of the lines. The sound work stays subtle but lush and consistent. You can drop into almost any moment and find something that feels both deeply true, but carefully selected. Nothing feels like an accident.
And as always, a really solid ending will convince me of almost any poem. This one’s is so tender and so funny. May we all be sweet dumb birds and find our safe and loving homes, or make them.
Interview:
Why did you choose Team Taylor for this poem?
as someone else who enjoys reading/ writing surreal explorations into sense memory that has maybe been marinating in religious traumas - just seemed like the vibes were right. ^u^
I’ll admit I’m not sure I fully understand the epigraph in connection to the poem, would you care to pull back the curtain at all there?
absolutely! might not be the most straightforward but hey
I’ve been a fan of the work they do over at Oi! Substack. Publication has a wonderful heart & they’re eternally there to fight the good fight in the name of platforming underrepresented minority groups (b.i.p.o.c./queer/trans/genderqueer/ etc) and that really resonates with me, especially in these unpleasant times.
I got inspired by that one night and just wanted to write something that had an “underdog taking on the big fight/ never say die attitude even in the face of endless hardship. Didn’t plan on it going where it did, but i was quite pleased with what i ended up with after a revision or two. :)
When you think about pacing in this poem, how do you manage the line length against the poem length to carry readers through a poem like this full of dense references and emotional resonances?
oh wow, that’s a really good question.
Just my personal opinion/preference: to me, if a piece is long and/or has a lot of moving parts to it, offering it in a more bite sized format rather than a party platter wall of text - that’s a lot more inviting to readers and doesn’t seem as like a Doctor Bronner soap label.
I’ve always enjoyed reading longer poems (hello The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You) but I do get a touch frustrated when there’s periods, comas, line breaks & whatnot when it feels like the poem really has a good rhythm going for it.
Same feeling I have for memories of watching Iverson truck up the court on this gorgeous fast break, running on angles and lanes that seem to be indecipherable to normal humans, and right as he goes for the shot ohhh whistle for traveling. dammit.
If something I’ve written goes towards minutia of esoteric references and “vague but just specific enough memories for most people to hopefully relate to,” I still like to try to make it as interesting as possible for a potential reader.
I know the poet/author is there to build these scenes for the reader to enjoy, but I have always been more a fan of self-guided tours rather than the tram rides with tour guides, if that makes sense?