writing poetry
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Gas Stove At Night
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≻: Gas Stove At NightThe enemy is closing in. GentleLicking indigo flags. In the dark kitchen theSmell of gas protesting against ignition. All the…
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No Love Lies Here
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≻: No Love Lies HereThere seems a dried well in me, ancient woman,Guarding and nourishing this stone villageOf skeletons. How dry. How dry!I clutched…
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The Fit
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≻: The FitWe walked with water beneath our feet:Blue, styrofoam, packed away and neat When not in use. We built the world…
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Jammed
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≻: JammedOur bloated love,Turgid with gas, belly-hill skywards.Bag of chips rocking on the counterFull on emptiness. Bags of Pigs sunbathing. Disgusting.…
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The Magic Trick
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≻: The Magic TrickLate afternoon, and one side of the bus sunnedIn light. I imagine your words falling dustGently on my lashes. They…
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Not in my capacity as a Literature student IV
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≻: Not in my capacity as a Literature student IVWater -Robert Lowell It was a Maine lobster town—each morning boatloads of handspushed off for granitequarries on the islands, and…
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