Month: March 2017

Lips Laced with Citrus

If you came over right now, I’d taste the blackberry jam you ate alone at breakfast. Or maybe those ginger drops you pop in your mouth when leaving the house. Yesterday when I stopped over I noticed three clementines in a wire basket on the counter. Maybe your lips would be laced with citrus, eager and bold, your neck warm with salt because you always break a sweat when the sun has crested over the rise just before my street. In the doorway out of breath no words spoken back pushed hard against the jamb. Your hands press down...

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Does a Hot Air Balloon Dream of the Ground the Same Way We Dream of the Sky?

Today the sky is a repeated chorus: How can I make us softer When everyone is screaming/When everyone is dying? The sky is frightened by everything, so I tell it, I love you, If that means anything. I do my coo coo coos to the sky. I buy a carrier pigeon and wrap a thinking of you card Around its left leg. I send the pigeon to the heart Of the sky. I warn it not to fly too close to the sun. The pigeon doesn’t listen. Now I don’t have a pigeon. Jericho is crumbling and we haven’t...

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DBL Feature

At the drive-in, zentangled particles of winter– or is it the disrupted plumage of pale fowl– shower these Alps on which we’ve idled our engines, basking under starry maps; leaning projections of two white, active shooters. The harsh cold blasts us relentlessly in our coated shivers. We inspect the spacial dendrites & sloughings, crystal spines bend between our rotating pinches. The search for definition distracts us, baits us; men drop as their stomachs blossom kool-aid rhododendrons. When they squeeze the pain, the stains leak placidly, crimson. Our screams echo the screams flickering on the imminent big picture imminent blanket...

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Neighbor Girl

The summer Neil Armstrong shot to the moon, I jumped at hopscotch drawn on cracked concrete, while new neighbors moved into the paint-scarred house next door. As bombs exploded worlds away, a young girl named Shirley stood, stared, clutched the downspout’s protruding arm, told me the war’s jungle killed her brother. I pointed to the game, but she shook her head, afraid of crashing against a hard surface. The day I heard Shirley’s mother yelling, my radio was tuned to WJPS. The Animals sang: We gotta get out of this place. The beat swung through screens and into the...

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a puzzle that is also a map but where there are no edge pieces & you lost the box a long time ago

let’s be eighth grade together / like instead of doing the it how about / i get purposefully lost in the woods of you / squeeze you into a juice & then drink the pulp of you / smoosh you into a dust & sprinkle you over my body / like instead of doing the it how about / i just never reach the ends of you let’s call each other by all the names / we’re reserving for all the dogs we want / but will most likely never get / *extremely keaton henson voice* / “& if...

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