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Ray Succre

Ray Succre, previous winner of The Adroitly Placed Word Award, offers three compelling new pieces. Succre has been writing for twelve years and has begun publishing his poetry while trying to broaden himself as a poet and parent. He is now beginning to send his work out at a more social level. He currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife, Maisy, and baby boy, Painter. He has been published in Aesthetica, Nthposition, and The Book of Hopes and Dreams, as well as in many others both in the U.S. and abroad.

Audio

Curry

As I grew older, there were things I could not eat.
There were things I could not do.

I don't miss sex, but I do miss eating
curry.

Once, I threw a party. There were so many people.
It was my birthday. Now, I just don't know
anything about parties.

When you finally grow old, they say you should
start collecting cats. But I don't like cats.
I don't like anything.
There are so many people.

Once, I found a treasure chest on the beach.
A little girl had left it there.
It may have been rude of me, but I opened it.

Inside, there were pictures of boys
and pictures of her friends.
She had so many friends.
She liked so many boys.
There were so many people.

I was a boy once.
Pictures of me were circled in little red hearts
by pretty girls, and stored in little treasure chests
on the beach.

But now, I don't know anything about little girls
anymore. I don't know anything except
that I miss eating curry, and the world
has unfolded into scenes
I am no longer
in.

If I stand up straight, I can feel my mind leaving me,
but if I sit down for too long, I will end up
laying down, instead, and where few would notice.

I was another man once,
but there were
so
many people.

Audio

First Date Commentary

I had a really good time tonight. I knew we would.
See, I thought when we went out, we'd be able to go out,
you know, and we'd walk around...
I wanted to go to the park... I love that kind of stuff,
and you do, too.

We had a good time. We held hands, you know,
and I was kind of nervous, but like, I totally did it,
and then, you know, everything was going good
and you were like, hey, let's go out for a couple drinks,
and I was like, okay,
and then we got there and you were like, you know,
I have some money, let's buy drinks,
and then you were like, here's one drink,
and then here's two drinks...
and I was like, whoa, okay... okay...
and then, here's three drinks--
and then I kept drinking.
And I kept drinking and drinking,
and drinking, and drinking,
and drinking, and drinking.

And that's when it happened:

2

I've been so nice all night.

I've been so nice, I've been so nice.

I know you think it's dirty: I don't care. I know you think it's dirty: I don't care. I don't think it's dirty. I don't think it's dirty. I know you think it's dirty, but I don't care.

Touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it touch it.

I know you think it's dirty, but I don't care.
I know you think it's dirty, but I don't care.
I don't think it's dirty.

I don't think it's dirty.

Audio

The Ticks in My Marrow Fed Brightly

I belched black foam across the rocks.
I ate from the shitholes of Romans.
My sunglasses glinted in the glare
from the husk of your glassy-eyed,
impeccant dreaming.

I have had to be the native Nick of sins,
the Wagerer, stormseed of infernal,
a twilight myth, and worry.

I tore loose my stomach and fed it
to madmen, and their ticks in my
marrow fed brightly.

I bifurcated my tongue and lapped
from the reams of funerals, from all
of your names, from taste, endless,
and fickle minds, the fleshy themes
of comedy.

Why must I vanish? I was your wall
with a pictogram fire.
The tax of my guidance was Hell,
a vernacular, phantom of spittle
on judging lips, as my
little eggs of plague rolled men under,
lovely magpies into the tar.

The ticks in my marrow fed brightly,
yet now I only scarce exist.
They have left me less of life
in your waving,
modern
world.

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