by Dana St. Mary




have herculean optimism

and broad shoulders.

i seen one wiggle thirty feet,

to make the dinner bell.


i will never be hungry enough

to eat a maggot

no matter which pisscountry i land in.


termites too.

and spiders.



all meant for the heel,

not the gullet.

‘lest you live in water,

then they start making the

tummy rumble.


but there’s always a hook inside

anything soft—




me, i feel cast in stone.





i ate enough bugs for

one life,

and would never






Dana St. Mary is a lifelong devourer of books and tall tales told by strangers, in odd places. he spent over fifteen years as an alaskan deckhand on halibut, black cod, and crab boats. he spent twenty plus years as a traveler and inveterate storyteller. north america is his particular bailiwick.  he now sleeps in a bed, under a roof, with his wife (colleen) and two exceptionally handsome children (patrick and irene).

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