poem: ‘muse’

the christmas tree divorced in the window, the ce n'est pas real tree -- she is wearing a red sweater, the thread caughtat the edge of her neck, the cotton peter-pan collar. when she coughs the spit rides up her throat in a divorced ball and he, watching, imagines taking it out, colliding it, marrying… Continue reading poem: ‘muse’

poem: the artist in hell, justified

she is perfectly halved: she is pouring black paint into the mouths of strange boys, her body all light under the strobe lights, her neck cut into diamond pieces by the sex moans made by singers too punk to be human. And she is reading at the window ledge her feet curled under a skirt… Continue reading poem: the artist in hell, justified

poem: delusional man

I am not so good at this, she says: the creaking of her hands being wheeled behind her head, and the gears pulling a smile taunt over her too-life-like face, the blue eyes put flat above wavy almond hair, the color of it perfect inspiration, a lucky miracle that comes from the painter staring outside… Continue reading poem: delusional man