I pulled an all-nighter, I pulledthe night between my teeth likethe bloody fists ofa man; I stretched the nightbetween my teeth and left school-shooter chalk on the people askinghow, why, andare you. they leftthey all left; and I stayed aloneto watch the sun vomit,greasy violent strands over the lovers especially, their handstheir hair dripping in… Continue reading poem: hemingway
Tag: free verse poetry
poem: save ur tears
set the scene: girl, realizingquickly inside the lights that the boywill not tellher everything. how can i say —without mocking — that youthat you exist within smallsnake lines; train stationin august alsoseptember; the lines lookdifferent inside rain lightsstation lights, people with ezra pound faces, petals and bulbouseyes. the girl realizingthe boy is leaving, he is… Continue reading poem: save ur tears
poem: corazon
nothing boys, whose head is somethingi am not and cannot be, i don't know whatand how. you are thinking, your handsyour wide beautiful shoulderswide eyes. i am lonelierwith your existence than if your existence was not; you are not like me, there is no danger of your leaving planets. the mythology it stays long after… Continue reading poem: corazon
poem: liberal arts
the woman in the k-mart gable ate french breadwith dirty hands, she had opinions about impressionism but did not know who monet was, only that debussywas apparently an anti-semite, a fact retold at theoryseminars, when she was a young woman and threwher body around like dough. it impossible to say: sex and not also: woman'sempowerment… Continue reading poem: liberal arts
poem: ‘now’
when i was young, i overanalysed, gave moments great epochs: that fall that summer, the size and emotionof the wind, the tree-shadow on the gable and kawaii music orold literature and cats. the boys all becomingsoulmates, over-explained but neverread. the people now are like the year: twenty-twenty, riots riots riots. she stilldoesn't know if this… Continue reading poem: ‘now’
poem: i misspelled the name of the artist and had to google it
do you want to know whythe academics are elitists hatedthatcher have politics like sexfuck their candidates roughlyin campaign emails andsupporting media; they knowinside their flower gardenskulls ironic skeletoneyeholes, thinking nothingeverything all at onceall like nothing, my mindis a frida kahlo painting, it is derridait is torn and deconstructedand "torn," a 1997 Natalie Imbruglia pop hitnominated… Continue reading poem: i misspelled the name of the artist and had to google it
poem: bad free verse attempting to explain
the old words and adages arestale; and yetwe all blaze up, in unison,whenever there isa chance. one million rooms, foaming with m/f violent music; writing to panic attack hangoversand mythical cigerette smoke. they laytogether, in the afterhe came into the room with the snowflake-coldand she blazed up. twenty-five years later she fucksa different man, the… Continue reading poem: bad free verse attempting to explain
poem: party with the optimists
they were drinking fast confetti wine pinktaffeta hands they say do you consideranything sacred fuck that i sayfuck that and the dawn meltscity lights bombs my brastrap caught call me a taxi waithe says the cocaine still flush waityou were such a slut foridealism flares of art eventually i say lighting the cigerette shaky brightface… Continue reading poem: party with the optimists
poem: the battle of
again again again and howin muddy, half-trudged stepsregains the hold, the menfall— down— and i cannot complain. i have instead disorder, mindhell sparks, all orange-pillcontained. once, theydied in droves and now i die alone, on the upstairsbed my face againstthe shrills. you must know:he is not returning: heis not worth attention,deflection, call it crush— in… Continue reading poem: the battle of
poem: lady clane
woman who gracefully and sometimesgracelessly took us, an entirenation of squabbling super-market mums, plastic bags drooping sadlywith sunday roasts, potatoes readyto be pulled and plushed — and she sitsin front of the square tellycutting the vegetables and sometimes (shite!)her fingers, watching; lady clane ridesto the cathedral, smiling brightlyand shyly, lace lining her handsand skinny arms… Continue reading poem: lady clane
the last pavilion 