The Collapsar publishes new poetry, fiction, and nonfiction every other month, and new culture writing weekly.

Two Poems by Chris Middleman

Photo Credit: Trent Alan Morris .




Well-scrubbed & shining under track lighting, we intellectual debutantes bejeweled office chairs that spun in a new media lab named for some So-and-So’s donations

Our presiding Media Crit & Theory professor was serving out some kind of career probation at a state school’s cheaper satellite campus He sat cross-legged, right of the lectern

Tossing aside his slim-fit blazer and tucking half his hairdo behind an ear, he asked us to call out luxury watch brands to casually illustrate some point

When the girls with the splendorous blond hair that gleamed like trophies called out words I’d never heard before, I knew the quagmire I fell into was deepening




When splitting one down the middle for the first time, the sanguine reveal at first seems unnervingly wrong like a double-yolked egg’s novel horror before giving way to delight; coloring mom’s baking unnerving and strange

The crimson carpels and vesicles yield to the blade like a middle school dissection of atria & ventricles performed by a hand attached to a body whose own mutations were barely expounded upon in musty textbooks and handouts re-Xeroxed into a flaccid oblivion of hoses & cowheads

But, always the autodidact, you’d taste the segments on your own to discover that not all oranges were orange, that what seems wrong could be delicious that the blood was indeed the life and without care, it’ll all leave a stain




Chris Middleman lives and writes in Seattle, Washington. A native of Downingtown, Pennsylvania, his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in several independent press outlets, including New York QuarterlyUnderground Voices and Full of Crow.

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