Category: Poetry
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Hidden devices, the voice always remains
The voice above me was not born like ours are born through screaming His (if I can call him a he) was manufactured like fake breasts – to appear god-given – and tell us where to put our change. These trains are all wrong. 3 have passed me going the opposite direction That is not…
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Miles (Sedona pictures)
Contours align the sky like spines vertebrae linked-clouds a mile is pieced distance like a cell is pieced skin
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This is your final bill
I am your 39 cent stamp. I am the weather in a city you’ll never check, a call you’ll never connect, I am out-fashioned, a memory reject. I am the face of your regret. I am your shame, tossed photos. The lie to face your friends I am ghost limbs. I am trips you’ll never…
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Lamplighter
I am the last one up tucking the empty bowl of popcorn in the sink, fluffing a soft pillow of white soap, kissing a tight door to frame, touring the house like a lamplighter extinguishing the flames that have kept you up
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Lovers and thinkers…
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost. — Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Smart Phone
Clouds distort in the sky’s fish eye. Washing oil sheen from my hands, they prism momentarily, dull just as quickly in Orwellian florescents. I think I’m becoming machine. Plugged in at the nap of my neck, sleeping next to a time bomb on my nightstand plotting domination with Facebook pokes. How many likes does it…
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Ugly, you whispered, to me you are beautiful
I cannot change the ugly sounds that once scalded my throat. One kick, one slammed car door, one yell I would have run. Steady rain licked red dirt I watched neighbors’ porch lights weave in winded trees through the window. You kissed my chest and, in me, the ugliness needing to be horse-broken. You had…
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The docks
All I wanted was for you to come to the docks. I was there, listening to the water, but not seeing anything at all, sensing, the way you manage a dark hallway, that there were objects in front of me, behind me, above and below. Were the fish sleeping in reeds knitted together like throw…
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Nitrogen's dark side
Tulips are teacups everywhere except my yard. I’ve either missed them entirely or they refuse to enter my spring. The grape hyacinth become unwanted hairs I razor down with a push mower. I’m starting to sweat again and wear sunscreen before bed. The covers’ eclipse is radiation. Sleeping in a burn, I wake in the…