Tag Archives: poem

Red

Desiccated red like a rose picked apart
By the sort of angry young man who would tear the wings off a butterfly
For free.

Red speaks to me in a cracked voice.
She was a sultry with a temper.
Now her skin is a desert.

She tells me to avoid the heat of summer and grasp spring-
Before the boys become men by the river

I lay in bed at night thinking about that rose
And her love for me.

Medical Textbook

If patient has a red ring around her throat, use antiseptic.
Love rashes are contagious.
Hands clasped means she will die waiting for a train
If you don’t mend her before you send her
Back into a susceptible world.

Cauterize the eyes. Seeing only hurts the patient.

Put a shunt in her cheeks.
Saliva leads to kissing, to being terminal.

Love Your Neighbor

A highway with a necklace of beer glass.
I too am hemmed in by glass,
By broken mirrors and dashed bottles of wine and my second sight glasses a finished suicide.
Trucks come so bright,
And taxi drivers look with pity
As I walk miles in the snow without gloves,
Trying to get my new space heater home and turned on.
Then a man quietly pulls up next to me
And offers a ride.
His taxi is a minivan and I see his meter up front.
I told him thank you, but I have no money.
He said he wanted to help. No charge.
That is what we mean when we say love your neighbor.

Intersections

Clean diagonals are a favorite,
Chevron and parallel.
Parallels are easy,
Lonely yet satisfied
In a trip by herself in an untouched sliver of real.

Perpendiculars are problems.

Where two lines meet there is a point I can’t make,
An indispensable collision.
What happens at a point stays there
But the two lines on their way to nothing

Are forever changed.

A Rush

I am looking for trouble,
And I find it on a beach.
Trouble looms large and does cover my breasts.
Crabs make their home in the sand.
I make mine at the sea and he holds me back.
I wanted to be my own deckhand until I decided to find trouble.
He removes my feet and I wanted nothing to do with it,
Stranded away from the ocean and his challenging eye.
Why did I need to get a rush while I waited at the dock?
His hands are like urchins,
And I want to swab every part of me clean.

Green

In the morning there was green,
A cool, whispering green infecting the spruce and air.

Within the covetous morning
They harbor the dark –
The spruce and air in collaboration with
More green than I can understand.

My sight is green like the stem of a flower
Used to promote something more interesting.

Green is what I see alone in the canals
That swerve my needs.

Yet I dislike al l but the brightest, loudest of greens
Because they remind me of my perfect noon.

WIP 9th Letter

The yellow letter
Number 9
I can’t fathom the more dangerous work.

In my dressing pocket,
It’s a yellow nine.

I get my pancakes with extra syrup
When my husband makes breakfast.

I understand the shape of my body.
It is large and unrestricted.
And to come upon desire
With a desire for hidden light
Is to make lemonade in sum.

Daffodil,
Cream,
Egg yolk,
1980s hotpants
All 9 of my colors are yellow.

One book is very simple,
Don’t take 90 years to decide.

Taking emotional plans,
Airplanes,
And you’ve gone over the edge with my name.

God

I walked down the road crying for milk.
I left a trace of ten behind me.

God as a musician.
God as a father.
God as a star.

I have no idea what fun is in my body.
Only dark memories of waking up yesterday
On the bank floor and covered with a foreign coin.

I chase a little,
Having more darkness in my right leg than my left.

Let the physics escape.

My milk went down warm.
I need a drink.

There are things that ordinary people don’t do,
But look.