the winter has me wishingthat you and iwere still something; do you remember two years ago(two centuries of yesterday) i was desperate and drowningin idealism, in pacifiedanxiety, andglowing newintellectualism at midnight and dawnand also love poems, written for youmainly on the coffee datewe almost had:the old me, studying hard,too-hot latte in hot handscaffeine sparking slow… Continue reading poem: the winter girl and the sunset boy
Tag: love
poem: my grandmother’s (mystical) first love
he was the type of boyi dreamed about saving —a pretty wraith, oddly colored:black hair, black eyes — a mad rememberingbetween us, when i satin the soft shitting yellowof his apartment, his facerewording, compressing—like a poem in the physical actof being written, movingquickly backwards, the meaningskittering over itselfwith braver, bolder attempts.he was the spirit hung… Continue reading poem: my grandmother’s (mystical) first love
writing: the things that happened today
I stood in the shower a long time and imagined getting out, taking my towel from the hook and wrapping it around my body, and then unclipping my hair and shaking it loose and bunching the curls between my fingers, and walking back to my dorm room. My room is clean. Nothing else, lately, has… Continue reading writing: the things that happened today
poem: the millennium after
this is how it goes: we sat in the blue grey and i licked your nose, nostrils twitchinglike cats: whiskered fuckerslapping at my milk. you pulled the sheetsfrom my breasts and climbedinside me, like we are some grand city —what did i call it? the sex life of the centuryresurrected between your handsand my getting… Continue reading poem: the millennium after
poem: strangers far away and very close
girl looking out a windowdo you remember Rennes—where the stars— almost bloomed?where men cut themselvesfor eternal random truth;saying: i miss the dysfunction,the late, exploding nightsyour hand in my mouththe spiraling, the fights;girl looking out a windowis he caught in your head?—the boy over the ocean, his hands pulled into squareslet the riot fall— and find… Continue reading poem: strangers far away and very close
poem: tragedy to introduction and rondo capriccioso
fall is saint-saëns, it is slipping offsilk dresses and leather gloves,hands cut on the dashboardand hair mussed,leaving her body like curtainshung over the seat—his tongue spiced,her cigarette sparking, sexcut and served cold;the air is brimmingthe music rimming up—i counted your sallow face in the crowdthe day i left,over the top,for glory and saint george andall… Continue reading poem: tragedy to introduction and rondo capriccioso
poem: pornographic europa
i met you under the meter-blockwith madness in my head—you pulled out— my spinal cord,you thought, you asked, i said. love comes down, i guess,to this: the ramones and black mornings,your hand in the mooring,my chemise and semenin the painting, the submissions—a literary edition of two peopleliving nicely, the prague-parissplit: we'll have sexand call it… Continue reading poem: pornographic europa
poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually
alternatively titled: "buffy, season six" i am New York in the window,i am Paris in the glass.can you find me, i amlaughing—can you find me,i won’t last.cities in the stardustmake shit inside my head,can i sleep with Prague?with the adolescent-dead?the boys are saving nothingthe boys are going madi am just an illnesspathetic, never had.can you… Continue reading poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually
poem: the ancient man
his hands, holding me were like the ocean exploding in my mouth. and I brought the long fingers, the star-fish arms studded with sea spray and drowned crow gilt— i let them buzz me, the edges of things breaking against me like i was the world and he was the water.
poem: boy alone, watching a girl
there are lilacs coming up under her skirt— and she stands in shadow on the concrete, fat clouds making dreams behind her. i watch her and imagine: maybe my fingers are touching the raw strands of hair coming loose around her small face, instead of the sun. maybe if we breathed at closer times the… Continue reading poem: boy alone, watching a girl
the last pavilion 