Index of Haunted Houses

First published in



The weather is

in handshakes in here.


Bribes pass


from cloud to

cloud: a black


coin or two,


a Nebraskan letter

to meteorology.


Doors open

like brackish brackets.


Dusk is an interstate

coin locker.


I see a slow-burning spleen


of light, a rose-

bush of bones, calm hands.


Don’t we all see

the lights of a city


from farther than we’d like?

About Adam O. Davis

Adam O. Davis is a poet, photographer, test pilot, greengrocer, gardener, thief, liar, truth-teller, bank teller, door-to-door salesman, book binder, night deposit box, logarithm, lamplighter, lobsterman, horse breaker, cat burglar, curt cartographer, carbon copy, cubist octopus, bail bondsman, bad barnstormer, paperboy, teacher, automotive technician, tearful confessor, candyman, cropduster, getaway car driver, top-seeded amateur, surfer, soothsayer, railway brakeman, lightning strike recipient, sinister signpost, unexpected sweepstakes, sentimental jukebox, endangered species, naturally-occurring arch, axeman, ashcan, ashram janitor, freelance writer/editor, speechwriter, ghostwriter, ghostbuster, concierge, cape wearer, lost shoe, lost balloon, floating away from your childhood at an exponential rate. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including Boston Review, Grist, The Laurel Review, POOL, Sixth Finch, The Southern Review, CutBank, andThe Paris Review.
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