the story so far

poetry by daniel hurst

  • Migration of Butterflies

    I have heard when butterflies migrate, it is their children, several generations later, endowed with the great train of memories of those that came before, who died learned, added their own thread, weaving a continuous pattern, impossibly complex – each unaware of the destination, but keen on the route – an instinctual purpose passed down…

  • Current

    love, deferred; stone, dropped from a bridge at night. splash, heard ripples lost in the dark.

  • Considering a Purchase

    My hand lifts the case of beer, waits: The cans gently clamor, calling – soft melody, sweetwater – My tongue listens, mind enamored By the crisp toll, the promise Of an empty song. Bound to a mast, wreathed In madness, he orders His crew untie him, lost In the music. Sharp teeth await In the…

  • Aubade: Important Record

    This night presses softly against the window, a silence like the slow breath of organs, sleeping in empty churches. The supple kiss of your fingertips plays gently in the dark by memory. What music to be taken into your arms, to rest my head like a needle on your breast, catching a melody like the…

  • Environmentalism

    look at the cat…

  • in another life, when we were cats

    tacky couches, flower prints…