Charles Kell



Repeat Offender

Little red dots
on your upper left
arm raw from scratching.

Again this old architecture
sutures you in: spring bed,
metal toilet, dry spit

on the wall, newspaper bits
stuck into window holes.
What they call a pen

blues lined paper
you’re lucky to own.
Lines of sound wrap

around each side you’re on.
See this face in the mirror—
how one offers a self

up until one’s gone. Wet
pastels. You said never
again. Pretend, stand

somewhere different. There,
take two steps now don’t
move for five minutes.

Say never again.


unnamedCharles Kell is a PhD student at The University of Rhode Island and editor of The Ocean State Review. His poetry and fiction have appeared or are forthcoming in The New Orleans Review, The Saint Ann’s Review, floor_plan_journal, The Manhattanville Review, and elsewhere. He teaches in Rhode Island and Connecticut.


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