Three Poems


Christian Bufo





as I lay ablaze



in this fuzzy connection

my solitary bedroom

bridges to yours

through a special feeling

that jumps about frightfully

like a child balancing

on a limb of an old oak


a certain fuel guides

the yellow electric

around my skin

inside and out

coating me like

a tight nylon sweater


but really

this excitement falls

from the ceiling

atom by atom

like the first snow of winter

it’s bottled up over many months


and you

like a match

to my hairspray

I feel you burning

the hairs of my knuckles

to a crisp





cat’s eye



yellow collects on the shores

of eyelids like seagulls

nesting in cliffs

overlooking the Atlantic

a water taught with

suffering and burning now


oil sags comfortably

between every rolling bosom

and reaches out to air like

the light of daybreak reaches out

to the already

shrunken pupils

of eyes ignited by flames

only moments before








wheezing like a teeter totter

or a pillow on fire

windows glassed with oil

smudged like a face

shiny silver without reflection

tv blank like the


and a table contorted

like a worm with bones









Christian Bufo lives in Philadelphia and has work forthcoming in Impossible Archetype and Stone of Madness Press.  Born first in Cherry Hill, NJ, they grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia.  As an infant, they felt especially unlucky at this turn of events, for they longed for New Jersey.  





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