poetry
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Cotton rag 300lb hot presshand-dyed hand spun merinoUnravels in mushy loopsspilling stencils, tumbling rubber stampsthai constellations and white princessesSpurt in emerald clotswillow charcoal and pale stumpspencils, pencils, pencils all rinse awayrip off this last bandagea torrent of purple prose gushes outsoaking my Chuck Taylorsruining my ironic tee slice deep the dead and dyingScrape off the
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shotgun flat with the kitchen in the backshoulders swaddled in the torn toweltight self-conscious coilshold still girlblack hot comb slipping through kinksin the kitchen red hot comb rest in blue flamesburnt hair smoke and Pink Lustre sizzlingcurl beads smoothed into silky tresseslook at this buckshotholding my ear as the comb pullsin the kitchen a tear
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What’s the wordLepeop no lepeop suddenly there is a room full of lepeopbetween Mandy and meWhere at the what’s the wordthe sick people placeyes I remember the headache not a headachemy arms, my legs heavy why so heavyI remember the red flashing lights on the bambulanceI remember joking with the paramedicsI knew one of the
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Whatever happened to the Mary Celeste?Who encircled the globe in the 1870s Abandoned off the Portuguese coast bereftOf her captain, crew all lost to the sea Her hatches asunder, her quarters a messNovember 25th the ship log’s final entry Was she the victim of betrayal and theft?Some look for answers in piracy Other blame nature
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I am small ordinary easily overlooked.I have told myself this long enough, thenI realized I am as small as a boltIn a suspension bridge, as ordinaryas a commute on a windy day andoverlooked at one’s own peril. I recognizethe depth of the hole I will leave behind,seeing my value even if no oneelse does until
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The new year, fresh as a never opened volume, leansOn a nearby shelf.Inside there will be numbers and crisp certain linesCrisscrossing time into days weeks and months ofLists, delicious lists, ambiguous lists, to do lists gloriouslyCorralling chaos and shepherding baby lamb dreams. Scarlet, orange, saffron, choices stand upright in a coffee cupready to highlight illustrate
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Behold my unfurling. Hark, that tickle deep in the back of your throat. Is that an ache in your calf? The catch in your breath is my trumpet. That phlegmatic drumming in your chest’s hollow. I am coming.Deny me at your peril.Ease into my warm molasses of fatigue. Accept my embrace in a smothering of
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Burning ring of fireHunka hunka of burning lovegreat balls of firein songs love is a flameme, I’m just a straw maneasy to knock down, no brains, flammable My girl, the prettiest thing in the only bar in townShe never gave me the time of daybut late one night Guns ’n’ Roses was playingthe air smelled
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Open skies beckon in something broaderFor this is the ballard of the Forth Worth ThreeA trio of girls who may have been lead to slaughterOne afternoon on a Christmas shopping spree Rumour is they were nabbed by a fiendFort Worth, heart broken, was shaken to its coreFor they were never ever again seenAfter the 23rd
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I’ve been everywhere Once I was litheStrong limbs that leapt and pirouettedLook at my dancer’s feet I wanted to go everywhere Detoured by reckless loveOnly got in trouble for my troublesLook I was beginning to show I was known everywhere Above the fold bold headlinesTo a footnote in a plywood trunkLook what’s become of me
circular staircase 