An Open Letter to my Unrealized Suicide
“The cleaner’s duffel bag, clanking with the tools of vivisection
bottles of acid that chime together from the wind of
his chuckle,
a club, to bludgeon me with,
a spade to dig my grave”
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“The cleaner’s duffel bag, clanking with the tools of vivisection
bottles of acid that chime together from the wind of
his chuckle,
a club, to bludgeon me with,
a spade to dig my grave”
Jesse Caverly was born an hour outside of Boston but he and his mother quickly became nomads. He doesn't remember much about Tucson and everything about Hawaii. There, he had a small white terrier as a pet. There, he collected comic books and ate guavas fresh off the branch. Then they moved to California, high school was all right, college didn’t happen but life did. He is now a storyteller, proud father of a wilding, and an occasional poet. He resides in Arcata, Humboldt County.