POETRY
“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
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.
I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.
He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.
I have an axe
with hearts gashed
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.
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.