poem: small chronicle of living in my head

silent, silent girls play at depression, play at deep aching wounds: as we really saw battles, as if our mothers died and our fathers went mad; as if we were raped on cement floors outside cities, men standing at the door and sharing cigarettes.   but, really, these girls are too fantastic and too normal:… Continue reading poem: small chronicle of living in my head

poem: we were the world, at war

hello to the dead years hello to the girls in yellow hats, kissing the library windows and pretending they are kissing husbands. hello to the young dead men in trenches, pulsing with no heat, maggots curling around skullcaps and helmets and dead dreams. hello to the girls standing at the train platform, waiting for him… Continue reading poem: we were the world, at war

poem: they told the girl

they told the girl: you are not going anywhere, you are going to sit in the dark for the rest of your sorry sad life. you are just like a balkan rat, boring out the eyes of your kin, hissing and scratching and screaming in the night, and all the little children, their lacy bare… Continue reading poem: they told the girl

poem: midnight in the dream city

she stood lazily in the shower, watching the drain grow fat with the leftover dreams that come off her like dead skin. she and her friends will go out tomorrow, and make castles out of shotglasses and then knock them over.   when she was younger she walked through fields in a red raincoat amazed… Continue reading poem: midnight in the dream city

poem: portrait of a lady, january 2019

pine tree hands make ginger kisses. they are better than the crowd of girls: nice, but all emotional. the boys carry rocks on their heads and in their eyes; the girl tuck the rocks into athletic bags and into breasts. she is with the boys, competing, the rocks split open to Intelligence and Intellect, and… Continue reading poem: portrait of a lady, january 2019