Lawrence Eby


When radio waves get lost among the noise of sea,
A car fire burns its last cassette in the glove box,
Ignites a picture album,
A conversation about socks.

The forest shrugs it off—as nature does,
Just another bear-trapped raccoon with cheese in its mouth.

We spend the night in a tree house and play with a ghost spewing from candlelight.
Pretend its fog that calls us closer with a finger,
When it gets too real, we hide inside an orange we squeezed hollow.

Then we safety-pin our lips together—as mankind does,
But Mother grows mold in our showers to remind us:
We shouldn’t forget the dead.


Larry Eby writes from Southern California where he earned his BA in Creative Writing from CSUSB. His work has appeared in the Sand Canyon Review, Welter, Badlands, the Pacific Review, the Secret Handshake, and Call of the Wild: Being Human by Editions Bibliotekos press. He is a founding member of PoetrIE, an Inland Empire based literary community, and currently has plans to attend CSUSB’s MFA program in poetry. In addition, he also has plan to open a publishing house in the Inland Empire.