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If Sheep Could Only Talk

If Sheep Could Only Talk

Who knows where the sheep go at night? The gate is always open and they are in groups of five or six, and this is going to sound strange, they appear to be gossiping—talking over the nights’ doing, as it were..
When they see me--they spread out—away from their groups. I wouldn’t be surprised if they began whistling to show that nothing was going on but I know better.
I asked Butch, my next-door neighbor, (if you can call ten acres away next door) if he was having the same problem with his sheep but he laughed and asked if I thought they had night jobs or were going to the truck stop and putting out?
There’s no doubt that Butch will be at the barber shop tomorrow getting a trim and spreading the word of my sheep problem and thoughts. I shouldn’t have said anything.
So I stayed up last night with the house lights off and the exterior lights on and I saw Woolly, our sheep dog, the same off white color as the sheep, amble over to the gate, stand up on his hind paws, an…

Corrosive Bloom

Corrosive Bloom


This drawn-out series of shadow plays,

protracted passion of dark days,

leaves me vanquished. Prostrate, I ponder

the essential difference

between your corsage

crushed on the floor,

and that bouquet of roses

strewn among the fragments

of the shattered vase.



Karlo Sevilla



Karlo Sevilla is a freelance writer who lives in Quezon City, Philippines. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Philippines Graphic, Excavation, NatureWriting, Rat's Ass Review, Kitaab, an Origami Poems Project microchap, in the respective first anthologies of Peacock Journal, Riverfeet Press, and Eternal Remedy, and elsewhere. He also coaches wrestling, trains in Brazilian Luta Livre, and does volunteer work for the labor group Bukluran ng Manggagawang Pilipino (Solidarity of Filipino Workers). 







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