poetry Archives | Page 4 of 5

I am still waiting for the lion

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

anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple

Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

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.

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

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.

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

The collective
failure
of ethical standards

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

poetry