I am Elizabeth the first, sitting in dirty bathwater with rotting teeth, rubbing my hands between my legs because there are no men: I am tired of being Virgin Queen. I am Bloody Mary, I am wailing in the antechamber, the rosary beads dancing like knocked-off heads after the ax cuts—one, two, three. Despite what… Continue reading poem: Let Them Eat Cake
Tag: orginal poetry
poem: not another night alone
these times of year are desperate, are lonely they are spider traps i can't talk myself out of, when it is midnight and the depression is so repressed that pulling it out is de-evolution, fundamentally re-volting to this grand new person i (almost) am. where are the stars at 2 p.m.? i suppose chopin could… Continue reading poem: not another night alone
poem: those people are like art, dead but beautiful
little girl, in the red skirt, in the impressionist painting outside my window: the sky is thick with cocoa beans, the clouds are wild. her mother picks at the flower-dust in her hair. they have halos, they are goddesses spun out in starry nights, relics from when the world was young and girls waited… Continue reading poem: those people are like art, dead but beautiful
poem: what is a woman?
when we were talking, he treated me entirely different from last year, he looked in my eyes and said, "i believe--and i'm sure you do too--", already giving me credit for having the right opinions, the right ideologies; this un-pretty girl who can talk of post-modernism, intersectionality and all the necessary college-activist ideals. but i… Continue reading poem: what is a woman?
poem: i saw the texts in your phone
darling, have you heard of the invisible men? they are all around us, dancing. they are the pricks in your cough when you kiss me, when you tug down my short chemise and kiss my thighs. they are the children we can't have, the dreams scheduled and forgotten, the sense of otherness I always feel… Continue reading poem: i saw the texts in your phone
poem: river flows in you (three steps for love)
i wrote a manual last november: how to fall in love, three easy steps. first, be a ghost, be silent and secret: your lips so dusty that even coughing cracks a new breath. then wait for a boy to uncork into greying Fall days, his eyes splashing wine, his voice nervous and young; while you,… Continue reading poem: river flows in you (three steps for love)
poem: you can publish, but you must use a pseudonym
they call me no-name, little ghost and spirited what-if that runs and dances among the has-beens and will-be's. i have deep holes where my eyes should be, i have a pulsing sticky heart where my mouth should be: I cannot talk, but I can bleed. I can not even claim what is mine as… Continue reading poem: you can publish, but you must use a pseudonym
poem: last November was seeped through with color
sitting, now, on the other side and looking back through the blue-green sheen of November in Love, I am unhinged and wet, the wine running deep rosé over my virgin hands, my soiled head. he would come to me out of the rain, out of the dark, shaking mythos from the curling damp parts,… Continue reading poem: last November was seeped through with color
poem: fire water
hello local burned out millenium i don't like the way you look like me in the mirror, the way your indian eyes glow red in the city, the red urban city coming out of me, when I sit by the highway, the cynical parts of the world cut hard into my thighs and my old-legacy… Continue reading poem: fire water
poem: matrimonium
for very small moments my life is beautiful. there is Paris in a mason-jar, girls kissing boys on the sidewalk, rain coming like piano jazz. the baby is crying for me, lisping Maman Maman; he is like his father. And we were like staccato-ed beats: small carnivals of mirth, small hollows in the neck, your… Continue reading poem: matrimonium
the last pavilion 