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DRUNK MONKEYS IS A Literary Magazine and Film Blog founded in 2011 featuring short stories, flash fiction, poetry, film articles, movie reviews, and more

Editor-in-chief KOLLEEN CARNEY-HOEPFNEr

managing editor

chris pruitt

founding editor matthew guerrero

POETRYPiety Street Art MarketDaniel O’Connell

Drunk Monkeys
Poetry

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

You work with doll pieces and cigar
boxes. Mirrors reflect limbs
suspended on toothpicks.

///

You bend to touch the tablecloth,
and pull tightly across an
imperfection. 

///

The earth knows your name
and you live on its skin as
a benevolent parasite.

///

Your home is ringed by live oaks
and run across with softly
breathing floorboards.

///

When you die, you leave a hole in
the fabric of the universe.

///

The hole rests in your former study,
regardless of the Earth’s
superposition. It eats shadows.

Dan O'Connell studied music and creative writing at Tulane University. He currently lives in New Orleans.

Featured
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POETRY / 5 Poems from the Forgetting Sonnets / J. Parker Marvin

the patterns do not change __ __ __ __  
they are misremembered __ __ __ __  
cool hand __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ 
separate heat __ __ __ __ __ __  

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POETRY / Gaze / Ellie Snyder

Be gentle don’t bump it I’ve got Andromeda centered 
In the viewfinder but it will already have shifted slightly 

Gliding its trillion stars and their moons in millimeters 
Behind the local legends painted ancient on the dome  

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POETRY / Emily as She Turns Forty-One / Darren C. Demaree

but ask me again how much 
I care about the other mouths 

that could call my name. 

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POETRY / The Lord’s Supper Reenacted by Piñatas Stuffed with Boiled Beans / Jose Oseguera

We’d get home, and he’d go back to weaseling money out of Mom  
and squandering it on things that were smokable or fit in a syringe,  

on what wasn’t bread. The little money he made came from  
selling our family’s things: Mom’s jewelry, TV and VCR

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POETRY / Drunk Ass Birds / Benjamin K Herrington

swallows actin’ drunk 
swimmin’ overhead 
chasin’ each other ‘round 
like brand new lovers 
stumblin’ out the bar at 2 am 

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POETRY / Clock / Jill Michelle

I command subjects, turn math to English, history  
to lunch, govern teachers and students alike in  

my slow crawl through middle and high school 
periods.

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POETRY / Plate-Glass Window / Karla Myn Khine

We are all God’s little playthings. Or else why are we on a ball.

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POETRY / The Secret / John Peter Beck

I had the goods, 
the lowdown, the skinny, 
the whole truth  
and nothing but. 
I was dangerously 
in the know.  

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POETRY / Do It / Kate Polak

If you listen, really listen, their voices come back.  
They start to tell you about places you’ve  
never been, about things you want with  

a ferocity that scares you sometimes. They make 
sense. Sit with them on the couch and watch 
a movie you know is bad.

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POETRY / Suite of Four Poems / Harry Bauld

Only connect 
indeed. Dressed and buckled in 
like chefs or psychiatric patients,  
they shuffle and lunge. 

POETRYEulogyKandie St. Germain

NON-FICTIONBarely, Semi LoudNooks Krannie
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