by Nicholas Beren


Hauntings take time
you cannot haunt
all at once
and if you ever tried
you wouldn’t understand
what it truly means to haunt
like a horse in the jungle
the cool smell of chlorine
the nearness of your dress


Into the realm of the horses
One descends
Into the realm of the underneath
Coarse brown hair
You all know what it’s like
You’ve felt it in dreams
Or seen it in the movies
Oooh, that looks familiar
Your wife says in a
Milwaukee accent
And you just wish
She’d shut the fuck up
While you’re in the
Realm of the horses
Looking so cocksure
And impressive

About the author…

Nicholas Beren is a New Jersey native. His poetry has appeared in the West Wind Review, Haribo and The Associative Press. He has written film criticism and arts features for sundry outlets, online and in print. He still lives in New Jersey.