Max Heinegg
Counting House
We send each other the number of our days without. Here is my hoard, a show of high-piled sunlight tempting shadows. I near 1001 dovetailed nights, spared mornings the samoon still follows, pouring wind down dunes like a djinn. On its tongue, poison. To tell a dry story: once, I conjured ease like open sesame. Why then, in this palace, does ruin sound like music to me, all the clinking empty?

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Max Heinegg's poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize. Max has been a finalist for the poetry prizes of Crab Creek Review, December Magazine, Cultural Weekly, Cutthroat, Rougarou, Asheville Poetry Review, and the Nazim Hikmet prize. Additionally, he is a singer-songwriter and recording artist whose records can be heard at He lives and teaches English in the public schools of Medford, MA.