essay at midnight and she is frothing with all the wrong things the economics boy kissing inside her inside his computer script and also him kissing his girlfriend. the cold coffee, just one-fifty more calories with crumbs wet at the bottom. the ripe, nice words falling into her tired hands. english major: that's a nice… Continue reading poem: college (essay at midnight)
Author: elizabeth claire
poetry for the desperate and the romantic. university student, bored out of her mind.
writing: screenplay, #1
[a boy and a girl, both mid-teens. each rather drab-looking; not Hollywood ordinary, just ordinary. sitting with their legs between the iron slats of a balcony. crows and city noise in the background. a cornflower blue sky, some clouds] the girl: I can't even talk to him, not anymore. It's driving me crazy. the boy:… Continue reading writing: screenplay, #1
poem: picture of someone else, told like this
did you look in the portrait today? she shudders and pulls away she said (bitterly/violently/desperately) NO she said i am damned to hell and back she said it comes out in the books like blood from a knife; disconnected, but members of the same party, all the same. did you go out tonight or… Continue reading poem: picture of someone else, told like this
poem: stock character, female
she turned very slightly; smiled. she said I know you know we know we all know That we are just matter. she bit her lip, she brushed her hair behind the pixeled part of her ear coming sharply in and out of focus. A bad movie; the director is inebriated. reset the lenses and and… Continue reading poem: stock character, female
poem: the third boy is just myth
along the lighted corridors he turned and smiled slightly: that odd thing girls do when they manufacture a crush for a boy that they don't really like, or care about. along the pagan corridors of the forest, and among the thyme and sticky ryegrass he takes her hand he presses her fingers carefully to his… Continue reading poem: the third boy is just myth
poem: portrait of a lady, january 2019
pine tree hands make ginger kisses. they are better than the crowd of girls: nice, but all emotional. the boys carry rocks on their heads and in their eyes; the girl tuck the rocks into athletic bags and into breasts. she is with the boys, competing, the rocks split open to Intelligence and Intellect, and… Continue reading poem: portrait of a lady, january 2019
poem: self-delusion, always in style
there is a dream: right now, he is far away, in London and Japan, and he is not remembering her: he is all symbol, not enough boy. There's no sex when it's only literary, didn't the blood on your lips teach you that, or the blood inside that cute boy in the journalism class, the… Continue reading poem: self-delusion, always in style
poem: teenagers aren’t humanity, but the horror comes close
he cut her up inside the grand blue gray there is amourous floating of livers and other passions, there is repression. he cut himself up and she cried out she was his hand, his wrist, his perfect dead face after the school imploded. we are living too quickly to catch the blood there are insides… Continue reading poem: teenagers aren’t humanity, but the horror comes close
poem: and your eyes like marmalade and stretched blue skys
and your eyes like marmalade and stretched blue skys: it was only a whisper, forget it. like old cd's on repeat and her hand shaking, 2005 in blacker sharpie on her nails. that's time: tipping back your head for the thickening music that scratches across the widening sky and she buries her head into your… Continue reading poem: and your eyes like marmalade and stretched blue skys
poem: unexpected afters
people do not tell you that heartbreak physically hurts that I can put my thumbs to my chest, and, coughing, tell you linear stories of blue demon veins, the sticky fingers of the unseen cut in my blood-caverns the spot between my breasts sore, a waking pain and your memory like pine-acid. little ghosts lick… Continue reading poem: unexpected afters
the last pavilion 