CA Conrad
from Mount Monadnock Transmissions

your murderers were the last

   to touch you in this world

    torpid song on repeat

     pulled down the

      rocky slope

        I hold the shirt you left behind

        the bottom was

        visible before the descent

        hours days months later

        your shirt is gone

        no I am wearing it

        covered in cuts

        layers of dust on my skin

        still confident in gravity

        still sliding down when

          up now feels

            too far





a spider’s web is

made of digested

fly brains wings hairs

legs tears pheromones

flies attracting flies after death

   dissolving us into the endeavor of love

    hold me to your song it is delicious

     death attracting flies like life

      hear you one more time

       in middle of night

        tooth it open

        love all unloved

      parts without pause

   Dear Ghost flickering with

   flames that no longer hurt

   deflated lungs expanding

   YOU SAY They Can Only

      Burn A Faggot Once



           the spirit of

      your flowers is

my favorite shelter

we were in love is

               the main


faintest green light in

tree pulls me forward

   whenever life is

   beautiful makes

   me think of you

   carry color of the

   forest to be with

   you to belong to

   this world with

   you to have what

   we have and that is it

       yes the present

       is between the

      past and future

      but is too radical

         to be called

         the middle






                  cultivated by

                  fear of death

               it is not failure

          but age you smell

I am often disgusted with

life here without you


   growing sinister

the kind of fear when you

                don’t care if you

      scrape the car while

  leaving the parking lot

  before the police arrive

    today we give love the

       same abandonment



Dear Earth it is okay to not

roll the stone back uphill

we rent memory storage in the world you

left behind but Elizabeth still channels

the grandmothers for free

little wonder in this

dell of broken treaties

daisies bend under

our slightest breath

you did not answer

          after you died

                  it is when

                   I learned

                          to be



              between dreaming and crying

                     until it calcified

                            and fell



Found In Volume 46, No. 05
Read Issue
  • Conrad
CA Conrad
About the Author

CAConrad’s childhood included selling cut flowers along the highway for his mother and helping her shoplift. He is the author of nine books of poetry and essays, the latest of which is While Standing in Line for Death (Wave Books, 2017). He is a 2015 Headlands Art Fellow, and has also received fellowships from Lannan Foundation, MacDowell Colony, Banff, Ucross, RADAR, and the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage; he conducts workshops on (Soma)tic Poetry and Ecopoetics. Visit him online at