Pulse Issue 2: 2023


by: Evan D’Alleva

Conversation kept in the air of closed windows

poet in a world of unending validity

fingerlifted furls over his panned ear

from sideburned cheek to head, hair directs satellite


like a saviour with a face I’ve never seen

reflection of a parking ticket

in the windshield of all that he does

one hand on the wheel

he speaks through beard and nosehair

with a voice that distorts tape.

A/C in the B-series

black, more dust between seat than tire

donuts on onionfield

strike a match for my first cigarette

slouched on an exhale, strangled

ears folded over, black

roadrails nosedive into banks of gravel

shattered mosaic

muscles masquerade to the edges of the face

skidmarks scatter

dry scalp

Mazda B-series   underwater tiresculpt terrain

bulbous trucks from plants, morning traffic from Barrie

unfiltered blood

oil leaks around the engine pistons

dead body flexing metal tendons

Terracina plaster implodes, sink in bed

finger dipping into the car radio

he’s got AM to separate cells in the head.

Mechanics replace their organs with mechanical arms

workers through corridor slap clay

and spin wet saw into fired mantel

made for mayors and money and haemoglobin

record in constructions limb on limb

held on fingerpressed minitape

a headache jumpercabled to a clot of pink

with his profile head-on to the mantel’s corners

led by the hand before the law became theft

plot the field of arrows

palm on supple clay

stood in dusted cargos through studio corridor

this limestone masculinity

upon these days

sculpted remains as that of ancients

saltwatered black marble figures of dredge

mantel stood in decorated homes with the poise

of an uncracked form   halves perfection

like arteries split the heart

darted paintings scarred with the faeces of metamorphoses

as if the spinning world were the images of your memory

carrion to remember him

regurgitated from my brain

meat matter

baby bird food coagulated

as it rushes to fill its breast with lottery

from his blood belly

umbilical rope

fell mess on the street

like the dust cold on his truck

brought to this snowless town

and melted at the feet

celebratory flowers kept past their death

inundate the room

with smoke and fragrant decomposition

the break of a black-barked plant

and like toothpick or buckwheat

he picked from his teeth arrows

of alarming disarming

or call the bow-shot tipped

for in the air were militant eros

speckled mist of popped gunpowder spit

bubbles and tarot

starving, the farmer stole a rose,

the angels who

tell us

we will choke on our words

left this world in surgical obliteration

and from this dust

spawned with blood a son

with legs too long just to walk

and in this dust

refuge takes hostage.

Evan D’Alleva is a student in their second year at OCADU’s Creative Writing program. They are a poet whose poetry is often in the form of collaged lyrical vignettes; lamentations, memories, and desires.