Peripheral issues,
like where to raise fireflies,
consume my government.
My government,
not yours.
I don’t share,
And my whole bureaucracy is off their meds, anyways.
Stop staring at my nudity.
You aren’t supposed to be here.
Tag: poem
Water
Look up water.
See what books,
so fearful of the subject,
refuse to stay.
Flowers gasp to stay afloat.
His desires spirit him away.
His desire to finger the piano,
her
with or without her face.
The touch of her mind on the water
regal red.
Life and I do not care who we have.
He is
crunched afterbirth.
Alcoholic
She needs sour apple vodka mixed with a tart schnapps.
On her way in the nonchalant dark her dignity escaped her.
At the counter a man wonders where fugitive dignity hides.
She leaves holding black bags,
tries not to notice that even with 6 clanging bags of bottles
her load is lighter than it was.
Sweet Blue West
The sweet blue west calls me.
A vision of endless land is seared into my eyes.
Why take this seasick sailor
and set her in the lovelorn Prairie
where emptiness is everything
and loneliness is nothing,
only to drop her from a thunderous cloud
in a crowded coastal city
to drown?
The Gray Sea is a Dancer and a Whore
The residue of angels drapes
like fine linen
over our hands
our language
our thighs.
Death and I do not care what time it is.
He is a delinquent
I am night’s dilettante.
A lighthouse is afraid.
The gray sea is a dancer and a whore.
Stop feeding the birds along
the craggy shore your dinner.
They are waiting for you.
Man
He casts his net among the rocks.
Broken jaws chatter beneath the water.
Two towns over he is a baby licking
his mother’s paintings.
Today he is a glass hunter
All shine and no stick.
Pharmacological Fog
Recapturing yourself will be easy.
White still in the bedroom,
structure from private, necessary snow.
dreaming of silence.
Your mind is a playground of artillery.
Capturing the sense of yourself will be hard,
Lost 2 feet tall in a field of chaff.
The women have needles and no yarn.
A man sits toward the curdling sun,
his face a mouth.
Sound your siren song
A gentle offering of wisteria wishes
and sulking letters.
Give her a sonorous rope to tie round her wrist
a little balloon bobbing desperately toward mass.
3 Poems in a Minor Key
An envelope locked out of sight,
buttercups giggling in the fields –
and then a pink fog rolls over the view.
It is all so dreamy.
Don’t bring a mirror here.
Gloomy, graceful ghosts
lounge under the beach umbrella.
They are nudists.
They are like frosted glass.
No sunburns will befall them
as they get drunk
and carouse on the beach where they
washed ashore.
Welcome to the Life Center
With sparkly resources to help you warm winter.
Are you a cartwheel?
A suspicious glance?
A still wind?
We can help you get back to work.
We offer many courses:
Earth Spinning
Bone Knitting
Light Painting –
and certifications in
Prebirth Fantasy,
Pain Sculpture
Freeway Fashion.
Visit us today in the building of roses,
at the corner of Air and Fire.
Untitled
Eleven mirrors watch videos of sky.
Clouds breed above the enemy.
What sleeps inside my teeth
that my hunger has become so fragile?
My face is a tapestry unfinished.
Below the town a garden planted by boys
grows velvet tumbleweed.
Pro Ana Eating Disorder Websites, AKA Thinspiration
Olivia
Bridges of rubber band
of twine do not bend under your emptiness
the handsomeness of starvation, of Ana has you blind.
She is a surgeon
She will remove you piece-mail.
I am collecting the hair that falls exhausted from your head,
to bind a textbook,
a book I will write in your name about control
having it and losing it and needing it
and the freeing beauty of being human, of need, the pleasantry of a satisfied hunger.
Let shame bleed out under the table.
This is your body. This thinly flowing soup your blood.
This is our last supper.
Dine.
*There was a time in my life where I used to pour over pro Ana, thinspiration websites. I bookmarked pictures of girls so thin their bones would show and would use those photographs as inspiration not to eat the next time I was hungry. The pro anorexia world is dark, lonely, and evil and I feel pain for the girls and women who are lost in its vortex.
