the city
and the whimsical ghosts worming homes
into tar and crisscrossing steel wires; jousts
of fanfare and tongue-in-the-cheek tradition
perching in the citizen's stomachs(?)
kidney stones(?)
my fair lady of the night, phantom trysts do
not suffice; grand canyons in vacant skulls
and how the whispers of an old lover lacerate
doldrums that stroke frail apartments. beer
bellies, beer bellies, beer bellies, are adamant
and true. shove this blasphemy down your
throat.
this city—
has butterflies pinned to peeling walls
has notarized glass slippers
has tongues licking brains
has wordless mouths
has nothing.
#poetry #poem #poet #writer #writingcommunity #literature #bibliophile #city #sadness #sorrow #japan #dubai
race to dinner
salad fork on the outside
soup spoon on the rail
lap back linen napkin
wine glass just off the tail
China leads by a nose
butter knife pulled up lame
cup and saucer hold the edge
and the waiter all to blame
main course a length back
house dressing long shot risk
vegetable de jour off the pace
still in the gates, seafood bisque
homemade bread looks fresh
a mudlark bet buttered pasta
the featured fillies had their fill
pie al mode bumped and cost ya
03/23/2020
minimalism and nuance
sometimes a cigar is just a cigar
context be damned or
a rose is a rose is a rose
and the very thingness of a thing
grants solidity
so an adjective is ostentation
the heavy face paint of
a teen who cannot yet see
the beauty of her eyes
and sometimes the perfection
of a moment or a sense
defies shorthand sketches
so one must choose
words in tandem to weld and
shape into rough imitation
and hope to inspire connection
to the untouchable original
moments (counted in infinity) make our growth
.
there is gold painting your shattered veins
because even in the darkest of nights stars still linger
expanding in your bloodstream
filling you to the brim
with light so fragile, so tender
mmm... until it slowly ( yes, so slowly ) till it reaches the sides
of your contrasting soul
it’s in your cells, child
inhale it
( you know you’re home )
swallow those stars, threat them in rhythm
devour it like a low humming ( it melts, it’s sticky )
so warm, that it drips in sunsets
it reaches your skin . bronze freckles counted in your heartbeats
silver in moonlit longings
and gold orbs on the edge of the sun
how can you resist it ( feel the calm ) baby, embrace it
a long forgotten memory
of warm skin tasting of light and honey
blooming in your mind
.
*
unfold, my little butterfly (you are beautiful, so achingly beautiful don’t ever let anyone think anywise), open space for — more
free fall (without thinking, without weights) into the glowing blur of warm city lights, right into the centre (into now, into the mess of limbs and deeper into the growing dread and hollowness) & breathe, breathe, breathe. (curl inwards) feel the steady build-up of oxygen in your lungs until your chest is heavy with energy and then. . . l e t g o
. allow touch to press into your hollow parts and fill the emptiness with definition, with meaning and emotion
( small moments... moving, allowing the sunrise to wash over you, spreading your fingers flat over the cool glass, rolling into grass&mud, laughing just because...)
thousands moments slowly filling the gaps into your bones. big and small. precious things glittering like diamonds into your heartbeats.
and — oh my sweet darling, bloom
(spread your beautiful smile, let your heart expand) (—live)
& explode winter with flower stars, existing despite everything, colour into a world filled with only white darkness
love, love and hate and cry and reach, reach out towards those ocean lights that you’ve thought that were always too far (hidden stars that only exists in your dreams)
.... because you can
My Mother’s Friends are Dying and I Don’t Know What to Do (a villanelle)
They barely breathe. She sees their bodies break.
I treat her grief with Sprite and cracker crumbs.
She sleepsobs. There’s no real reason to wake.
She whines about her neck, how great the ache.
I rub it gently with my scabbed red thumbs.
I’m bleeding. She looks at my skin breaks,
flashbacks to Chris’s catheter, which snakes
into her belly. At least she feels numb.
I mean both women. Neither wants to wake
and watch how Judy’s tiny shoulders shake.
Like icing on cake, chewed strawberry gum,
the tumors in her brain. Mom sees her break
and who knows who to hold. Everyone quakes.
I pick my nails. I tear up. I feel dumb.
Now nothing makes my weeping mother wake.
The pantry empties. Mold rots the steak.
Mom forgets how to sing, to chirp and hum.
We learn again together. By daybreak
Hey Jude floats through the house. We’re all awake.
darling, please closer (there’s a story here somewhere)
a lost melody drifting in the air,
slow movements in the dark _
our atoms are dancing tangled together
can you feel the song vibrating beneath my skin?
it’s pointing me at you, it’s singing for you
*
heartbeats of one, two, three, four
yes arms out, feet in the air, body twirling, hands coming together
telling our story, in the dark warm autumn nights
full of beautiful dying things
and us, in the centre
a tragedy of desperate hears& cold cold fingers _
aching for warmth
For Max
I didn’t write you many poems
and for that I’m sorry.
When we were together,
my muse was the city:
the subway sparkle,
buttered croissants,
how the buses skidded
to sudden halts.
You couldn’t compare to the rain,
and you never tried. You knew.
You let me scribble on about traffic,
how it never stopped,
even though you wished
I was sonneting your glasses.
It was never your fault.
I can’t write love poems
like I used to.
The magic abandoned my body.
It’s still love, just with great caution,
like how you mixed honey with tea.
But I will say this:
I loved your nose the most,
even if I’m writing too late.
