the untitled poem that launched a thousand metaphors
Hey girlie girls and boylie boys, get ready for a fun, drunken, Friday night fuck fest featuring poetry and your girl Friday. OH no, did I use Friday twice in the same sentence?! Well, just write in and tell us that you don't enjoy life, or some iteration, or some exacerbation, or some altercation. We love you. We love all of you.
to take a chance of rope swings in the guttural visage of the backroads of the south land
is to die for the pleasure of cutting a sheet of glass and stamping upon it in perfection
slide away down the schoolyard playpen
when you hear the sonic radio at four in the morning, oh girl,
a groan for me please and once lie down with the light on your face and green lipstick,
oh I’ve seen too much.
I want to be wound yarn utilized in composition strange
to knit a blanket for a wounded cat on the prowl in the shades of midnight like
I once was.
smashed cameras of hijacks
I saw the gutter color rust swabbed across her forehead at two am
in dreams of corruption the slip cut city slid down the hillside to make love
with the ocean waves
you are certain you know if you wear black pants on a Monday morning and it is doom at bus stops at city mall parking lots
it was hard for the detective I know to give over his pistol at the end of his career merely to think of blue ribbon dancers’ flesh covering crime scene evidence and exalt the wayward working man out of his hard earned honest day’s pay
so perfection it is silence and it is stillness and the sing song siren of all endeavors come back upon the fold of whence they were blessed and given away
hard rain can be gentle like your hair in the wind auburn I saw the stars across your face
when you sat in the eddy in the river fair
oh the love
it is a miracle that such as us have become complete sets of bones with skulls and sockets and pelvises and ankles