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Time is a lonely bastard child. I know how it feels.
I explore the spaces inside, moist hollows where the angels once worked their mischief. Strange what you can grow accustomed to. I probe the old scar tissue: smooth, numb in places. I imagine I can feel their shades, tactile afterimages: a zombie reflex, a longing for a longing. It pulls at the center of my chest.
I miss the certainty of need.
I examine new possibilities, take steps, show interest, craft a proposition, cut a book deal. I have always been h
by *anarchypress
One AfternoonOne AfternoonOne Afternoon
A bunch of us boys on the Gonzaga in Florence program cruised into Antonio’s Café.
Toni sold espresso, panini, and snacks. The place had an upstairs and shelves and shelves of liqueurs. His sandwiches were cheap and good.
Ciao, Toni!
Then one of us saw it. We sensed the change. All turned
as a gorgeous young woman rolled by behind the wheel of a cherry Italian sportscar.
The sunshine made it perfect.
by *anarchypress
CompositionCompositionComposition
There is almost nothing of life left in me. I spasm like a broken wasp, like a headless samurai.
As openings go, I could do worse.
You respond, tell me about someone we knew from high school, how you write him letters in longhand, the way you once wrote to me. You converse about your shared love of music.
And I know. I conceive
of how I could still play your piano forte, how I could make your guts vibrate.
I could find the key.
I have spent so long practicin
by *anarchypress
The Instinct of CellsThe Instinct of CellsThe Instinct of Cells
beauty softens each of us like an egg soaking in vinegar,
but I have always been soft, soft as baby fuzz, a flabby soul stuffed into my skin like sausage meat inside a hog casing.
I have no idea what it’s like to have to kill, to jump out of an airplane, to learn I have cancer. I spray lavender-vanilla mist on my pillow to help myself sleep.
the hardest thing in my life was when my dad died. they tattooed little dots on his head to help them aim their rays. his hair sta
by *anarchypress
BiologyBiologyBiology
They didn’t teach us anything important in high school. I remember you, negotiating with your back to the class in those giant 80s glasses, as the teacher took a break from his boy’s own stories of pissing tigers and Vietnamese cobras swaying in the tall grass to expose himself: Being beautiful isn’t enough to get you through life, sweetheart.
Now at his age, I sit in front of my laptop at an upscale bar and lay you open over a California roll, chicken tortilla soup, and coffee with cream: It seemed like life would b
by *anarchypress
Snow Fell...Snow fell on my house, and I thought of you. Out dancing Thursday night, I thought of you. Feel your fire; feel my love inside you so Bright... I almost wish that I felt alone Again. I want an excuse to call you And tell you how often I think of you. Almost. I stroke the face of my cell phone With my thumb, teasing the latex buttons.Snow Fell...
I think and think and then rethink anew Of a heartfelt whimper, a fevered moan,
by *anarchypress
ExpectingExpectingExpecting
three houses down, the neighbor boy’s soft spot has fused together too soon. now his brain has no room to grow.
I cannot allow my mind to dwell
the daughter of a guy I work with has Down syndrome, an immortal toddler. her nose runs; she watches cartoons. they have a special guard on the front doorknob.
I cannot allow my mind to dwell
my half-brother’s adopted daughter was born with spina bifida. she wears special braces on her ankles to help her walk. she suffers operation
by *anarchypress
PostpartumPostpartumPostpartum
Heartache has nothing to do with the heart. It crouches in the
center of the chest. You don’t fall out of love. A switch is thrown.
The light fades.
You wait at the end of the fireworks show. Will there be another
encore?
You’ve thought, This is it, before. You try to make it come back,
make it hurt the way it used to, try to bring it into focus, feel the
heft of it. Were you ever really in love at all?
A dampened orgasm. A stifled sneeze.
You replay things in the cinema of your mind and search through
your love notes.
by *anarchypress
AB-AB-AB-
surrender
just give and give and give until there is nothing wet left inside
a dried husk rolled in gauze
you told me your blood type made it your duty to donate
but on that day your sleeves were too long and too tight to roll up
they always ask me
have you ever had sex with another man even once?
the questions are different for women
lesbians are the lowest risk category for HIV
men spread infection the way bats and mosquitoes do &n
by *anarchypress
Random from Favourites
go down, in history,/go down, in history,
he found me ,a penny, and palmed off my dirt. and made me read poetry under the influence in a parked Cadillac.
that first night when he carried me upstairs I counted ceiling beams and named them after elementary school teachers who probably died of emphysema the year I learned to drive.
/
I am using him to get well known and he has grown-up food in his fridge, so I
can stop going hungry. I missed four meals last week and I can see weight loss in my shower drain, in my r
by ~WhoKilledKirov
The Dolomite Man 1.The Dolomite Man
You are openhanded. Of course you are openhanded. Yours is a more civilized hand than God’s,
a softer hand, a slower hand.
And your mouth discloses the first great secret of the world.
I cannot hear it. It is a secret for your mistresses and your four wives,
and for your mistresses and your four wives only. The child will learn it on his own. You may edify him
this way, you may make a lesson out of it— though I will learn close to nothing.
Perhaps how to make my expressions l
by ~catching
scandalI stitched the pieces together, licking the corners like an adulterer; saliva on paper on cotton on silk.scandal
frayed edges, two button hole eyes a fresh slit for a mouth.
immediate attention to the navel and a line of brown and red turning yellow at the corners, two drops of salt solution dribbled above like the remnants of a past life.
just a second. just a second.
naked for a dress i watch her writhe and wriggle clambering towards the miracle edge of a blade; contemplating humiliation and the ringing of s
by ~daffodils
A blind man misses the sunTracing small town streets she inches along in the shadows filling thoughts between left turns and Long Island Iced Teas the barkeep serves me my regular and I can't keep these hands from paper confessionsA blind man misses the sun
there are as many miles between us as days until I see you again only patience or a Visa ATM could shorten either but late night phone calls beneath starlight don't require oil changes
and the days, well,
the days I use to cover pages in chicken scratch to pave the way back to my front door
I miss you like a blind man misses the sun &nb
by ~foxthepoet
Have you ever written poetry for an object of desire and given it to him/her, uncertain of how he or she would react?
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