Two poems | by Neil Frank

​My Neighbour Came Home Today

Inertia, my neighbour, came home today

and soaked his house in petrol.

Joy is a liquid, he said

through a broken smile before

spitting his teeth into the stars

and striking a match


From silence to staccato

crackles the house roared.

A loose fray on my sweater danced

and glimmered as limbs streamed

into smoke, listless in the air

spinning through spider webs

and filling the container of the open sky.


The ground leapt up,

striking me, and wet limp leaves pasted

to my teeth made my mouth taste like a fountain

full of pennies, without the gift

of wishful thoughts.


All that lingered

between my jaw was a taste of blood

from biting my cheek

Life on a Giant Anthill

My mother used to say,

we lived on a giant anthill,

a swell of land

plagued by tiny insistent insects and we,

unwillingly shared their address.


My father used to say

they couldn’t think,

they were just small machines

exploiting our house

for their own personal canteen.


And as our lights grew

littered with their corpses,

glowing husks in the lambent glass,

I began to wonder why

their boundless metropolis pulsed

beneath our grass?


Neil Frank is a 4th year student at the University of British Columbia. Born in and raised Calgary, Alberta, Neil has also attended school in the United States and  the Great Britain. Neil spends majority of his time writing music, poetry, and reading. Neil’s favourite show is The Wire. It is so good that he decided to include it in his biography. Neil would recommend you check it out if you haven’t seen it.


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