Carelessly Dated

Carelessly Dated by Ray Succre    Dust spans this tape appending my hand- this mollycoddled tape in a vast, no longer taping place.  There is no player of tapes in my home, yet this old tape is my first, labeled with a date that’s near my eleventh birthday, a mixture from radio, a tape I heard until its songs warped and the voices muffled into meld and hiss.  Now I prepare for middle man row and young men wager the young, violet air in place of my own, its case in my chest exhaling, and now I prepare for the … Continue reading Carelessly Dated


Mania by Ray Succre  The ceiling fan turns, a man speaks, cups clink and there’s a spill, the traffic spatters by out front, the bay shrieks in gulls and clicking crabs, this ugly plastic pen with all her parts, toilets flushing, sinks running, cars parking, doors closing, seats moved upon, stood from, sat down in, the wind on asphalt, the Earth under curbs, the sky above fuming cranes, the days.  By twenty-eight humans wiring across their lives, eating, I’m near all I can see and hear, a member of all this, my head in my hands in the acrid gasoline … Continue reading Mania

Christmas Island

  Christmas Island   by Ray Succre   Back on the isle of my upbringing, there was a tavern.  Christmas came and grunted the assertive dads into the tavern, these rebutting parents talking over their money and cubs.  In December, the marina was a man-bar for bulls; they came vacant but fatherly, net-haulers and knife-writers in the bantering liquid, a torpor of bulls, each in a whiskey blanket of shit, luxuriant as giants of reticence, big-titted men and felons, fish-reeking drinkers late in the marina tavern, men sorting ever closer- watching Saint Nicholas approach like a red tide.  Christmas was not … Continue reading Christmas Island