Tag: poems
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The Blind Pig
i don’t know what happens here at the arm of the great barn door the moment the day breaks through itself & the night capsizes between two watery thighs if the earth was made of salt we’d all be starving little belly full of hay sun breeze & a giant mud stage with a tambourine…
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Wild Card
Original artwork by T. Blake the night was broken, as we know, and what was missing was the blood-pink moon i asked a star for directions, on my way due west, i could not say but by the eyes of the owls was led down a staircase that spiraled to the cellar of the earth…
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Salt Lick
once upon a— no forget it— **THERE IS NO SUSTENANCE HERE.** this house of bones and hero worship, scraping us all down to the knees, under covers clinging faithless by the knuckles to celebrity skin like cheap porn or moldy wallpaper *best scrubbed thoroughly in the bathroom sink* another shitty politician a can of Pringles…
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Kissing Boys
I used to have wild hair the kind that knit tangles in the keyholes of all the sweaters and knots in the toes of the kissing boys who used to tip toe in after school like little princes to slay that imaginary line between two lips (where we found the kisses we taught not to…
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Jeans Song
I like to follow you by the scent of your jeans, to linger by the stitches and bury my knuckles in the crooks of the pockets while I dig for the spots where your cologne lies dormant like a seed. Oh, I want to burrow my fingers down. Down to the loops and the tugs…
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Rain Buzz
Originally published on Morality Park There will have been a night that sat on a house with no fence where the stars came in A night made of lightning, like a flash that tore from between two legs, switched off the lights, and crowded the walls with neighbors like a speakeasy, a room with a…
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Slo Mo
Let’s make love suddenly with all the lights on and everyone home Cross-legged, sprigged thick like a leaf skirting the horned edges of that cracked flower pot in the garden where everyone else is brunching on Prosecco with tongues ready for deep gossip while they work the runny eggs off their chins slo mo sizzle…
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Matchstick
last night between two dreams i had a little chat with god who was also getting a glass of water and asked him why he makes some of us uncool on purpose why couldn’t i be dope like Ezra Pound or a fly cat like Kerouac or better yet a love poet on Pinterest with…
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Patchwork
I don’t contemplate trees or the latticework of a banana peel like a tulip lined fence under the bark of a dogwood preparing to burst its flowering buds in the wake of a blue bird’s wing I don’t like structure or formalism or heavy expostulations or connect-the-dots 1-2-3 like academics and paper hangers do abab…
The Used Life 