Category: Poetry

when your breath catches
I imagine a butterfly
caught
in your throat.

and if I listen closely
perhaps
I will hear it
flu t t er
against
your
pulse

Johnny was a boy who drew
with long lazy strokes
leaning loose across an empty page

they said:
‘stay within the edges, Johnny! don’t want to murder the margins’

he goes where he wants
though

making poetry of indecision

they considered him
a Kindergarten failure.

it’s not a cop out,
he just
never quite saw the lines
between the spaces

pain, daughter to stone
is heavier then I expected
and it rolls downhill
gut-punching all the way

reminds me of an unfolding flower
her scent, forgotten
a non-mystery waiting to happen

I am the ragged poet
the scarecrow of words
my verses are unwashed,
 dirty and rank

but she loved them

she was the hours in curves
making art of her flesh
both sinuous and sweet
and she reminded me of untouched days
the remnants of something delicate
   an undiscovered jealousy
   or a child's sudden temper

I
the worm to her apple, the snake to her eve
brutally faithful to her failings
trusted companion to her worser half

I
dreamt her with outstretched arms
and the callous grace of the unforgiving liar

she was mine.
 my darling soliloquy
 my most unfaithful servant

and now she is yours, as well

I write about writing
and when I read what I wrote
I know I am right about writing
when it goes for the throat

halloween
and dracula's purring, heard the blood
in the next room
came a-runnin'
all courtly like,
(sabre-toothed smile
notwithstanding)
but i knew his type.
'no food here' i said.
so he left

sucker.

my sinister sleep
clings, wraps full arms around me
coyly buxom and full of honeyed memory
her silky weeds are my lover's hair
tangled between fingers, plump thighs
and my awakening

she keeps me close