October 25, 2018

He kicks dogs.

When he opens the gate 

it sounds like dogs 

getting kicked by steel-toed boots

howling the arrival of steel

towed vehicles 

the things junk yards eat

till they are full

and even still after they are filled

spilling into the dirt

under a twelve-foot seat

strapped to the back of a stronger metal.

He spits into the ground and makes dust

more shades of rust

he makes wet spots on the earth 

smashed trussed mashed 

into cubes of native rock

wrapped steel tourniquets

against the backs of sedans and muscle.

Old paint and new 

disordered and nonplussed

rough casted rot

like the jaw of the man 

who opens the junkyard’s gate

with all the metal he can muster

in his greased right arm

moving the ground-bound blocks

of crushed hardware up and over

magnetic veins of loose ore

slipping deep into the dried out floor

of alloy and ingot.

Deposits of man-made leaf 

leaving tracks in the bottom 

of his steel-toed boots

he sits tasting Red Man and plaque

sweat traced cracked lines on the back

of his twelve-foot seat 

he kicks dogs every time he moves metal.

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Rush Eby

I'm an American writer, and novelist based out of Franklin Tennessee.

 I spent my early adulthood traveling through Europe and Asia before enlisting in the United States Marine Corps infantry where I attained the rank of Sergeant.

 I'm a marketing executive at


and now contribute articles, essays, and fiction pieces to various publications. 

 My first novel Eat Me is currently in pre-publication and I am now finishing my upcoming book, Fetish.



June 8, 2019