-
April 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
So I survived then, didn’t I? In those harsh winter months? I took up stamp collecting. Thinking. Traveling. Why? In harsh winter, months following weather of convertibles and...
-
April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
for Julia Garland Murphy, my great-grandmother When my forbears homesteaded northwest Detroit to grow bushels of berries on brambles in fields, grand wagon wheels rutted dirt...
-
April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
The fledglings, how do they do it? And the new-furred rabbits, emerging from the nest? Something amiss is what the air, electric, must warn the starlings; the rabbits, they leave at...
-
April 22, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
This first day of a new year clouds blues skies visible through the melt of smog, a light drift of noxious air smelling of burnt things. We walk the streets, quiet with the serenity of a...
-
April 21, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
The vein caterpillars up, sucks it down through a glass straw, then we vanish. Its bliss, by the mean of memory can not be resurrected, only performed. Perhaps no different...
-
April 14, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
When metaphors slide the scalp back to its abyss of bone. When the simile proves like more human than is. When you heard the metal rod striking bone. Yes, it is bone. The palate halved. The...
-
March 16, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
when you walk up exactly six chipped and weathered stone stairs to rap gently on a door. You count the number of stairs in your throat. You count them with the dry click of your shoes. At...
-
March 12, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Like a walkway, she’d turn beneath his feet, angles becoming those of his body. Her voice looked to his vowels for molds in which to pour herself. She waited, cooling, for every part of...
-
March 11, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
my mom holds her accent like a shotgun, with two good hands. her tongue, all brass knuckle slipping in between her lips her hips, all laughter and wind clap. she speaks a sanchocho of...
-
March 7, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
If there’s a synonym for magic it lies not in the wand but at the bud-bent end. The body’s a spring, the mind a whore. Easter dawn, and loss. Better to have been born poor...
-
February 5, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
verse more than perm or not more than hood or not more than Chicago or Brooklyn or Omaha or Biloxi or not more than somebody’s woman...
-
January 27, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
A false lake. Sheen of a wanton flotilla peached in blue. The rented Nissan. Loam off green mountain. Explosions in the distance. Trails fractured and rethreaded....
-
January 23, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
For you took the night away over the garden wall & left no shelter for the aster or the deer that hid there, feeding. You emptied the buckets where rain would last for days. Where the...
-
January 5, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
It was a Saturday afternoon in June and the sun shone down on our naked skin as we passionately embraced and met soft lips and gazed into each other’s eyes as we began to make...
-
January 5, 2014 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Flint and locket, Pockets turned out to rid of dust. From your perspective the flow Of time is quite imperceptible. From hers it is made of springs, And gears, and string. Her thoughts...