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: the winter girl and the sunset boy

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

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

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: 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

poem: the unexpected boy, the girl rewriting her ghosts

I do not believe men speak to smart women as women. They talk to us as men, as nameless faceless hommes d'affairs: we are leaning against the conference desk, in a (power) suit, with pin-tacks in our neck and the unfortunate addition of long hair, breasts, adultery. The young adult novels lied: there is nothing… Continue reading poem: the unexpected boy, the girl rewriting her ghosts

poem: la femme n’est pas l’art

the persephone concepts, pt. 2 all hail the romantics: Persephone left the city and walked into her womb. all hail the romantics: she found him in a graveyard cleaning stones with his tongue she is too much spring, she is lonely. Death is kind to the Female, to the lost, to the waiting and the… Continue reading poem: la femme n’est pas l’art

poem: the other black parade

the pretty people are still alive: the girls in white blouses, the boys being kissed from train-windows.   I was alive in aftershock: I had sex with ghosts and wrote love letters to the gods, to the dust motes in my hair. I was waiting for a boy with too pale skin and black eyes… Continue reading poem: the other black parade