POETRY
“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.
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.
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…
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 would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.
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.
my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house
Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.