Category: Poetry

50s Dresses

Floral straight jackets hiding women It’s too pretty to get dirty High high heels knees tremble at the long way down It’s like watching ceramic doe on ice Grandmothers protested their actual sturdiness Rejecting the nonsense neatly paved imperatives of…

Cold Lights

Outside my window there is steam and there are lights in a skyscraper where people sit at their desks and the lights let them work. I bought two hot tamales from the Mexican food cart hoping it would warm me….

Ghost Hunting

I’m hunting for ghosts, In alleys lit by memories, Phantoms of yesterday, Carved out of my mind. What I once held, You me and our dreams, Scraped knees and screeching swings, Pokémon cards and shiny things. Caught between childhood and…

Marge Simpson

Knows the heart ache of canaries. Hummimg bird to spilt milk No friends same dress Pearls that rarely dance Five dollar rose bouquets Without a stanza even Hefty husband beer kisses On the cheek Crazy kids wandering these streets Parental…

Auto-crimes

She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin as the image the image the image swung through her mind like a pendulum  …

Empty Lines

[Ring, Ring, Ring] The telephone rings but I don’t want to answer On the other side is someone who I’m running away from [Ring, Ring, Ring] I pick up and hang up They call again Utter silence throughout my end…

A Photo Found in Black and White

Coincidence did not cause the young man’s cheek to share the curve of mine in his gray, buttered face. His finger-combed hair wet with grease, his white, Sunday shirt folded one flip from his wrists as he squints, grins, leans…

For Moments Hiding in My Memories

This is for the whirlwind minutes That seeped into my veins like oxygen The furtive thumping of my lungs Against the subtle rattle of Your malleable ribs Impressionable as my soaring heart This is for the placid calm The sunlight…

The Day of Our Meeting

I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day of our meeting- Yet like two old friends Reuniting After years apart, The warm embrace…

Kierston

Meet me in the mountains Of Oregon (Washington’s been having too many fires). It won’t be hard to find me- Just look for the earthship, There aren’t too many. And the big plot of land All set up for you…

What is tomorrow?

Tomorrow is that glint in your best friends’ eye, When he proposes a daring plan. Tomorrow is that rainbow glinting in the sky, Reminding you that you’re not alone. Tomorrow is a fanciful dream taking flight, All sunshine and sparkles…

Home No More

I miss your coffee-covered breath, Early in the morning. It made me hungrier than death For a thrill without a warning. I miss your sweet saliva smell; I miss your cigarette-stained lips. Your yellow teeth as well, And your garbage-covered…

Popular Experiment

*synth beats* bright plastic blue screen green screen *auto-tune screams* chunky glasses tuned-in apathy *boy band* drive fast die young pretty corpse *twangy guitar* “kids today” kids tomorrow you tomorrow *pop radio* tinted glass psychedelic holographic unrelated imagery The featured…

Early Morning Ramblings of a Twenty-Something Girl

A dream of a 1920s quasi-candid shot of Debby Harry, mingling graciously among a grandiose Studio 54 scene. Spray the lens of my life with hairspray, too! Sorry, how petty I am. Strangling a waist and shoulders with wires and…

Antagonistic Environment

he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry sand in his eyes is a personal affront. he’s pretty sure psychologists would have a…

Pins

Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms, sharp at their sides. One of those things you stare at open-mouthed, barely breathing, waiting…

When You Grow Up

I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart of anti-democratic men but with a plenitude of carbon based efforts trying to truncate all…

Treading The Fire

maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems to me all as vanished from our worlds galaxies and cliques. much poetry has propelled into…

Lascaux is Burning

The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments And greatest terrible wars Were all done for the sake Of a loving God, For…

Opposable

The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘Uninspired’, have been used with the permission of artist Patricio Betteo. About Patricio Betteo: Patricio Betteo, son of south-american parents, was born in Mexico City in the late 70’s. Since 1999 he has focused…