Both

We both wore the same filthy Adidas sneakers. We both bought brat on vinyl. We both kissed Alex Goodman on the same night. We both thought matcha was overrated. We both strayed in the Black Hills of South Dakota. We both hitched a ride to the compound. We both renounced our belongings, donning teal garb. We both bore a child to Master Alon. We both watched as they were led beyond the walls. We both loved the trill of the windchimes. We both carved our birth names into the old ponderosa. We both dreamt of a great fire, but only one of us saw it burn.

Consumed

                 
                                  for James Tate

in the flame of the hara
you eat who you said you were
now you’re someone else
a fresh meal being prepared
for some future feast

I Haunt My Own House

The house is not mine.
I am not myself.
The dog that barks
is not a dog.
I’ve never met a leaf.
Every night
I become a messenger,
furiously burning.
You get the message.
A lanky gentleman
eyes us with curiosity.
We’re dispassionate
about the world.
We never go home.
Our home is everywhere.





Spencer Eckart is a poet based in Western North Carolina. His work is published or forthcoming in Pithead Chapel, Lucky Jefferson, Maudlin House, Burial Mag, scaffold, and more.

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