I
Mick, we are in a swamp.
Bullrush baited, thick
in the thicket, vibrant
and violent. We
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Poetry
Contemporary
1 min
I
Mick, we are in a swamp.
Bullrush baited, thick
in the thicket, vibrant
and violent. We
... [+]
We build our homes
From sailors' bones
A crown conch amplifies their screams
From grooves
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The histamine rush
from scratching this rash
makes me think that there must
be some really
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I'm a triangle
my edges are hard
always snagging on the soft, soft world
my scars are
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Fireworks rupture the smoke
gold stars like sky-sealed approval
burst trickle down
green
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She ties on her daughter's wings made not
of wax, leather, eagle feathers, but of
paper, ribbon
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The length of my dog's leash. Meeting another,
twelve feet between wary humans,
dogs sniff nose
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The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt
of the sky.
When
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Purple Lakers cap,
just back,
from a family trip to Los Angeles.
Or maybe,
we had been
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I sit in a chair
that melts to nothing
beneath me. I close my eyes
because she says I can
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Keep in mind there were three daughters,
One graceful and pretty, one fierce and
gallant, one
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Binaural classics on repeat while she
sleeps and writes and eats, and
D, vitamin variety, fo
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"I may be some time," he said,
easing on his fleece-lined boots.
We laughed and clinked ou
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Amongst my mother-in-law's hoarded treasures,
a rusted Normal Rockwell tin
weighted down
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Like pasteboard, the seeping planks
buckle underfoot, marked easily
with fingernail or jagged
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He said,
"Everyone is buying it like mad."
"And you need another 40 rolls?"
I said.
He
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Dare we invite the dreamwolf in,
to jump through our chaste window,
carry us over the midnight
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