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Poetry by Travis Catsull


Leaving Paris


nothing left

for me to do

in Paris

but drink

in my hotel room

some graveyard holiday

where even the statues

are closed

with bags draped

over their bodies

only a flag continues

to flap

outside my window

I blow my nose

as cars hum

in the drizzle

i’m staring

& there’s nothing left

for me to do





Wave Of Broken Buttons


An old black dog

took to me, thought

she was mine

so I took her

to the beach

with me one day

and she ran

all over over the beach,

wet and sandy

all over the blankets

and faces

of absolute strangers

and they yelled at her,

buzz off

buzz off

you damn dog!

when suddenly

a giant wave appeared

and washed an extra 40 feet


onto shore

sending naked bathers

and babies


for blankets, books

and flip-flops

washing out to sea

those silly nudists

clucked and clambered

with their balls, bellies

and boobs


about a bottle of lotion



About the Author

Travis Catsull is in Texas drinking chocolate malts with scarecrows and devil girls. The moon collapsed on his mother's car while working one day and no one has believed his poetry since.