“In Betweeners” Volume 9

memory lane is closed

not for repair but



the bridge is out, crumbled

under the weight of fear

detour around your photographs

and grainy celluloid nostalgia

the only road is the future

a path you will one day forget

like a dream upon the morning

Ocmulgee in August

“In Betweeners” Volume 8

It’s cool for August but

not cool enough for me.

I’m sweating in the shade, ensconced


in pines, oaks and corpse tables

where school children come to

eat and laugh


at some joke or another-juvenile.

They do not sweat.

There is no laughter here now;


the children are gone.

But I like to think of them

and the wonders they perceive


in this ancient, hallowed place,

stolen and steeled; renovated and

reinvented. For minds much too young


to entertain the circumstances

that brought them here.

But there is something they can see


that I cannot; a dream

dreamt suns and moons ago.

One that’s never lost.


“In Betweeners” Volume 7

hell hath no fury

is a double edged sword, jagged

in the claws of a monster; emerald eyed and snarling

it perforates the patience

known only by love

with mighty blows, hailing

from shattered ego

the fragments breed like bacteria

inundating insides; a decimating disease

to which no one is immune

One Soggy Afternoon in an Industrial Park

“In Betweeners” Volume 5


This place is not a wasteland.

There are trees that grow here, and flowers;

but only in designated places.

Squares and rectangles, partitioned

from the pitted parking lot.

Some of the plants go rogue and

sprout from the cracks in the asphalt like

huddled, malnourished refugees

fleeing the crowded beds.


A train used to run behind the building,

years ago, servicing

loading docks now shuttered by rust.

All that’s left are abandoned tracks,

wobbly balance beams,

perpendicular and littered

with steely spikes.

A snake greeted me there once,

a timber rattler in a coil on

the rotting ties, flailing his tail like

a terrified toddler.

I was well within his reach.

“Don’t,” I said. “I will do it myself.”

And I gladly would have,

taking up the corroded iron to

impale my arms, my feet, lying arms out

and nothing like a christ.

He bit me anyway.


Hello friends. I’m excited to announce that I have begun a new poetry project on Instagram designed to showcase some of my shorter, more visually appealing work. I will be posting a new poem every Wednesday at 6PM EST. I would be honored if you would participate by following lukeusrylit.

As always, thanks for your support.


In Betweeners

Although I write roughly two or three poems a day, most of them are either unfit for consumption or held for extensive editing and submission to some publication or another. However, sometimes poems come out that I consider to be in between those two quality extremes. I’ve decided to give those a home here, in a series I will call “In Betweeners.” There is no update schedule, but I hope to keep you well supplied with mediocre poetry to scoff at.