The Furious Gazelle

Literary as hell.

Trip by Carmel L. Morse


Carmel L. Morse


Lark, my artist friend,

my compatriot,

wakes me every Sunday morning,


I’m crashing, dear God,
please talk to me.
The flowers are vicious.
Eyes crawl from foreheads
and dark cloaks in corners
are dancing to smother me.
I am dying. Help me.


I spend an hour

on the phone

calming her.


Imagine a single rose,
swimming in a crystal vase –
petals open in slow motion
like in a movie
and it smells like June,
your birth month.


Find a mirror,
look deeply
your green eyes shimmer
like a proud cat
and there are only two,
a pair.
That is all you require.
Pretend that your eyes
are face cards,
two-eyed jacks
In a royal flush..
You can hold them
in your hands.
They are not exchangeable.


Walk to your closet,
remove your black cape
with the paisley embroidery,
put it on.
The swirls in the design
create a maze
that takes you on a journey
but the paths always
circle back to you.


You are the center
of your universe
that nothing can steal.


Your breathing has slowed.
There. There.
You have returned.


And Lark promises

she will never again

touch mescaline. Never.


But next Sunday

the phone will ring.



Carmel L. Morse has been writing creatively since she was in her teens. She received a PhD from the University of Nebraska and wrote a creative dissertation of her poetry. She has previously been published in The Connecticut Review, Darkling, Pudding Magazine, and The Great American Poetry Show, among others. She is currently an assistant professor in general studies at the University of Northwestern Ohio in Lima, Ohio.

1 Comment

  1. W. Blaine Bowman

    January 21, 2015 at 8:41 pm

    Been there…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


© 2019 The Furious Gazelle

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑