poem: they say, men fall off the bottom curve of the earth

he bit into her -- in long, sloping strides, and theirAfter was like the fall of Troy, her dress caulking down to herankles in the same violet waves, as she had seen, in the leavingof the wooden places she called Now, and now in his comingbetween her, the ships rising and firing and not ever,… Continue reading poem: they say, men fall off the bottom curve of the earth

writing: screenplay #3, “muse”

The window is gothic, church-shaped, above her. She is bending over a wooden desk, working furiously; outside, it is autumn and the light is brilliant and orange. Her hair tucked hurriedly behind her ears, curling out. He comes and stands above her, looking down; there is something unusually serious about him; he is a person… Continue reading writing: screenplay #3, “muse”

poem: shire’s end

rather laboriously, my father was forced into. a marriageand the lavender sucked head, in dreary smokestack columns, all underhis window. the sun was lowand always hot; the gardens sank and gasped,as if as if -- I was metallic lady Diana sat in permanent mourning or waiting or hoping. as a woman, I was alwaysdoing all… Continue reading poem: shire’s end

poem: writing camilla

he slept on the desk, in half-glacier grandsnow sweaters, the pine trees and cardinal birds, their throatsbright and ready! red, sloping down to his hands --big and masculine, and knotted up fromwriting her, sad long letters; when the day swept to a small close, the trees leaning in, snow falling off and conjoining; he slept… Continue reading poem: writing camilla

poem: psychology of a paris review or new yorker tote bag

she looks like every other bitch; she is readingThe Secret History, and I wrote in the back of Normal People -- if you read too much at one time, yourchest hurts; and I also filled out the Geriatric depression Scale in the back pages, like that asshole Connor did, in shuffling masturbatory pencil. LOVE toreme… Continue reading poem: psychology of a paris review or new yorker tote bag

poem: my charger

thirty day poetry challengeday 06– ‘my charger‘ was sometimes a wattpad boy (and I mean that ironically and also unironically) -- who wanted to go to Heaven nowrather than later, because it seemed betterthan whatever else; I don't know if that really counts as wanting to kill myself, he said; but I was listing, the… Continue reading poem: my charger

poem: telling him about the affair

thirty day poetry challengeday 03– 'no more staples' no more staples in the mouth, I will(I think) speak -- angel, devil drag medown; cut my polaroid in half, swallow the denser edge, leave mymouth on the vibratingtorn-off edge; I told you all thisstanding on the edge of a mausoleum and your face was white,reflecting the… Continue reading poem: telling him about the affair

poem: old romance

thirty day poetry challengeday 02– ‘CD‘ the CD was a iron disk that she slippedin and out of her mouth, and when he called her from the bathtub she pulled off her skin threw away her face; he sang along to her in the car and laterremembered nothing, it waslike juvenile sex with all the… Continue reading poem: old romance

poem: unopened

thirty day poetry challengeday 01 - 'unopened' like her legs the night of the yellow-dress party (and heryellow hair) his skin still caught in her throat. she said -- I don't carewhat your grandfather sayscan't we take this far away and crash into immortality, the city a loud and bright envelope the partygirls standing, watching… Continue reading poem: unopened

poem: colorado rich girl

girl driving home in a beat-uptoyota with the bare legs of spidermen draped overthe cut glass of her open holes, listeningto hey ho hey i'min love with you / you're in love -- but she always saysthe wrong thing, he finds her in the toiletvomiting blood. she pulls herselfapart / inside like the mountains,the old… Continue reading poem: colorado rich girl