I will make you my let-down song; so that when you are stuck in my head— I am sitting on the edge of swimming pools my feet in the water, the water going red. it's not blood—don't worry, this is not another sadistic, sardonic poem. it is only pink nail polish, melting in the water,… Continue reading poem: young love is a horror flick
she is split open once too often; they dip into her for communion bread, for vampire wine-tastings. she is fresco, oil on canvas, chalk, watercolor: there is something addicting about virgins, about the girls with universe side-splits and the cosmos falling out of their brains onto the dirty dirty ground. you are the monsters, catching… Continue reading poem: night terrors for dead girls
so is this what it takes? we are not meant to speak of the inner life, the girls falling like apples; it should all be chaste: small stories of people kissing in stations and camps, her glory fluttering under your hands, her becoming all raw and red. you thought you were a god because she… Continue reading poem: summer fruit in the city
now that he is gone the dreams and the sex and the writing are all pathetic. she was going to change the world with poetry; she had such plans. but he left the room in a red jacket; she is listening to Marina and The Diamonds. In the end, she is the one… Continue reading poem: James Dean and the Savages
you walked by and i, sitting in jeans and tee-shirt was suddenly a virgin in a field, my legs open over grass my fruit open and falling the daisy heads indented into my thighs, small red faces, matching mine; can you hear the water falling, the girl becoming?
see this: a girl draped over her table with moths and green vines all thick and hot inside her, their lisping mouths poking up through her fingernails, their strong buds opening between her legs; she is tightening and turning softly in the chair, softlysoftlysoftlysoftly so that the library people do not hear the rustling of… Continue reading poem: virgin in the bookstore