POETRY
“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.
I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.
I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome
Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble
I have an axe
with hearts gashed
You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.
my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?