with a desperately quick--"wait"--! in the golden brown bricked coffee house with her hair curling over her eyes and her palms warmed to perfect cosmopolitan happiness by hands cupping coffee & hands cupping at fragile hopes which already written themselves into great chronicles in her soul: she can already see them: friends, first, then maybe… Continue reading poem: the second boy
Tag: free verse
poem: i like abandoned spaces
i like abandoned spaces where people once were and now are not were mist comes in violence over the frolicking dead. but they are inverted space, blanks, where i can breathe; their dead ancient souls are closer to mine then the souls of the living this hot, heavy population that fills up my chest like… Continue reading poem: i like abandoned spaces
poem: when i say, mother
when i say mother, the depression is back she does not see how i can be stripped as a person and made whole as a writer both of it, all at once, like some black eulogy cut along my wrists and my fingernails the pen lines in my skin so pretty in print
poem: introspection
can we consider the importance of introspection, carefully, our minds lavvied in milk sunlight and the webs and weeds lolled about our fingers; the rats and things now in our pupils, now in our dusty, heavy eyelids caught down by the bedsheets, the watery linen sheets, the edges still stained with the heat of our… Continue reading poem: introspection
poem: i held a peach carcass in my hand
i held a peach carcass in my hand: the wet, warm body above the streets where rain-soaked cars flung themselves like missionaries across the rain-soaked plastic globe, the one that once lived in my mother's attic, before i destroyed her. i put my bloody fingers in my mouth and watch the flesh drip like rain… Continue reading poem: i held a peach carcass in my hand
poem: come like death
come like death unto my sex—I would take your eyelash in my—stomach as the light heaves down over blue taunt hills as sheets well up in my—fingers like glass the cracking of your breath along my legs the cracking of my rosary on the hospital—floor fallen like a child’s fingernails— the fingernails dimpling— into my… Continue reading poem: come like death
poem: stretched across the hotel bed
Stretched across the hotel bed is Axl Rose with his chin gathered up in clinical Defiance his arms and legs are Tangled up in bitterness And the white sheets which Still have my skin cells lined into them from Last night only cover Half his chest and the other part Is purely muscle and hard… Continue reading poem: stretched across the hotel bed
first poem: the last pavilion
Even the cutting is in place and the lattice constrains her like a corset like white hands among white satin tying her hair up for the providence ball; and later, uglier hands untying the same ice curls for the providence music in the dark Still, she is the rose garden even with this music, even… Continue reading first poem: the last pavilion
the last pavilion 