C S Hughes
C S Hughes grew up on the edges of sea glass cities and dust red towns. He has been published online and on paper. His work tends to the lurid, and sometimes to the ludicrous, but seeks beauty in all its ecstasy and artifice.
The Unfamiliar Dead
After the war In the fog of some inalienable disease We took the glasses off the dead No one who was left Quite knew how to polish lenses
Into The Rain
Too late I have wound back the clocks Though the times call only for An approximation Outside the clouds precipitously wait
There once was a fishwife of a worn to silver seaside town, who, though her hands were stung by years of scales and salt, was nevertheless admired, her hair the ink and spindrift of the sea at night, her smile changeable as tides.
Cat Said Yellow
The cat said yellow as I walked by The cracked pavement Eating at my heels I don’t know why Perhaps, from her sill She saw how close the eye
Hopscotch In George St City
We are making, from the new pasts Of our missteps, electrocardiograms This is the bloody art A kind of duel Back to back