top of page

David Dodd Lee


Every time I

make a keystroke

A dollar is removed

From my bank account

Via direct

"Subtraction." I am

Exiled here in the name

Of what? The shock

Of watching a man hit

Another man with

A bag of broken

Lanterns, this mean-

Spirited auto

Mechanic? Shy and

Cowering—that's how

We perceive the other

Two characters.

One wants love. One wants


What does the third one

Want? O let's all write

A lyric poem. In the

Final verses the

Soul shifts silver and

Black like window wind.

Now for the novel:

Nobody dies, or prospers.


AUTONOMOUS If I drink a liquid and there are chunks floating in it it's disgusting unless the chunks are ice. My mind, the files that are my mind. Let me be ice as I pass from one world to another, intact. What I fear is waking up not me. But why fear that? We are hunters but mostly gatherers. Waking into the day is a dissolve, a subtraction. We lose who we are as we attach once again to our things. Emerson: "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."


David Dodd Lee is the author of ten books of poetry, including Animalities (Four Way Books, 2014), as well as a forthcoming book of collages, erasure poems, and original poems, entitled Unlucky Animals. In 2020, his short story, “Hawks,” was selected for inclusion in the annual Best Short Fictions anthology, published by Sonder Press. He writes and makes visual art and kayaks in Northern Indiana, where he lives on the St. Joseph River. He is Associate Professor of English at Indiana University South Bend, where he is also Editor-in-Chief of 42 Miles Press.

Recent Posts

See All

Miles Cayman

Ø I think your name is less like itself is more like your middle name and most like the way you've held your pencil ever since you practiced cursive, and the ridge of callus precisely on your finger t

Javeria Hasnain

I ONLY CAME TO SEE GOD on the altar. When all the guests had left, & the smell of tuna had wafted far off into the ocean from where it came. No one truly knows. I waited for you, even though I knew yo

Clay Matthews

The First Law of Robotics What kind of malfunction brought you, little daffodil, with the afterbirth of an early February frost; what maker of clocks, what loosed screw; what turned and left the heart

bottom of page