Lee Dunn

Sixty something working stiff (retired). Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher. I write poetry, short stories, and non fiction. Shades of the surreal, the horrific, the nostalgic, and the humorous. I have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press, on Spillwords Literary Press, and in print at Crepe & Penn Poetry.

The slow burn

i am one with hands hang they like meats today grab one that’s numb work it up and down hold it by the thumb gelatinous with bones the slow burning of hope has reached there at last but its heat doesn’t warm at all

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the rapist

I’m seeing someone. She knows a lot about me, more than I know myself. I’m finding out how hard it is to give honesty, such a lonely word. It really does wring your tears out. But there are more where those came from in these scenes of absolution, validation, and condemnation.

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Bohemian ballerina

She had a mouth like Groot. (carry on, I said to myself) Red catfish lips and smeared makeup. (was she 60? 70?) Rouged cheekbones, bright bohemian garb, and ballerina slippers. A standout on the Walmart mile. And her drunkard’s walk? An impromptu dance to make me smile.

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Inside

someone I knew was afraid of apes orangutans, monkeys, gorillas even on the TV I think I may know why and someone else ran from snakes, bees, cats and I thought myself brave for not flinching but my worst fear always lurked breathing a giggle that none could hear

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