What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…


A City Boy Before


Provider biding time to ride the rails in search of need, heeding little warning signs to mine the fine line fractures between skull plates and pate and sated with weighty graciousness, giving feeling like potato sack needs, bleeding into air, beaded drops blending with bees, helium heavy and floating fine in between breathing heedless people, seeding into brain stem and interstitial DNA...

All My Surrounding Sounding


Down for good, or better, but never out forever, not as long as lungs hold air and let it out again, not as long as brain holds cliché back for not even one moment before firing toward fingertips, slipping from synapse to synapse with no resistance to speak of, no tongue to say, No, tongue to call its own and only, one and lonely one and the same way the good leader leaks the lessons through...

Crying Out (Loud)


Slide the crying toddler aside with one hand and with the other stroke his hair, saying, “Look! See there!” and pointing at a yawning cat to distract him from the stacks of shattered plates and broken bowls. Show the boy a songbird singing or a crystal raindrop falling from a cotton cloud, hanging down from a string of silk, skillfully gathered long ago by his grandmother’s...

What’s the plural of hiatus? (hiati?)


So, the holidays brought me back home again to Indiana…and they also saw a steep drop-off in (published) production. I still did some work, but none that will see the light of day here (or ever?). Any way, I hope your New Year was happy. And, even more, I hope it will continue to be so. I don’t really believe in resolutions (I’m pretty resolute in this), so I won’t make...

My Ro-Blog (a semi-intelligent attempt to understand the artificial)


Hello, friends! I started another blog called SubsonicSonatas, a site about robots and how much I don’t know about them. I will publish there pretty consistently throughout the fall and then sporadically thereafter (at least, that’s the plan anyway). But, don’t you worry. I’ll still be posting some stuff here as well (also sporadically). Thanks as always for reading...

What Now?


Hello? A sound slung lowly, slowly, into the echo chamber. I’ve moved and moved back (and moved again)—and so has the site itself since its last listed entry. Unfortunately, some bits were lost in transit, musings mine no more, set free like doves or bubbles to float again among their brethren in the ether. Some lines might have lived on, survived to flourish elsewhere but didn’t...

Writing Hippos


Hippo friendships, based solely on which chips and dips have fallen off the passing ships that day. They play and play until fried potatoes falling from ketchup-colored skies cause them to fetch their nets and forget about their games. Once  inflamed with crispy salty lust, it’s just a matter of time before these underwater blimps begin to glimpse the understanding that there simply never...

Who is the “you”?


Flip the bird and let it fly free so that I can finally see how vulgar these fragile temples actually are, so-called inviolate vestment hangers, going on and on about how violence is wrong, all the while chain smoking, drain licking, fever dream frenzy pills popping like steel bubbles bouncing off the brain, no more violence or pain, comes the chanted refrain even while we welcome the most...

Oh, Hello…


Oh, Hello, yes, but wait, you should know before we start that I’m really here to sell you this line: the end of everything is in the air. Yeah, so, I’m no salesman for sure but if somehow you bought that one, here’s one more for free: nothing really ever ends if it never stops moving, that is, if air is there to wind it up and never let it down. Ok, now, repair back to the...

(How I) WriteNow


When the pit boiling out the center of me licks up, spits its pitch to coat and sizzle, soak up into my brain stem, again again lapping back, coating coating, thick and unrelenting, until the walls will suddenly give out, slough off and slip down my shoulder blades, down through my elbows, soldering joints along the way, slowing the further it down it rolls, crawls, creeps an inch per night...

What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

About Andrew.

Andrew Cartwright grew up in Indianapolis, IN, but has lived over the years in such places as Denver, CO; Fairfax, VA; and Rivne, Ukraine. He is a former nonfiction editor for both Indiana Review and phoebe; he has also worked for the intersectional feminist journal, So To Speak, and the national literary magazine, Electric Literature. His work has appeared in The Normal School Online, Copper Nickel, Esquire Ukraine, Literary Hub, and Word Riot.

For more information about me and links to other writing, visit my author page at cartwriter.com

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A Day at a Time…

November 2019
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