respect divided by love
admiration plus dramatic thirst
self loathing times attention
poetics subtract the unsaid.
a remainder of three years.
syntax error.
less than zero.
-
-
Everywhere
“Poetry is
Everywhere”
lectures my literature professor,
“IT’S A
METAPHOR!”
I think-yell
In my best
(terrible) Tracy Morgan
Impression.Heart heat beauty
Isn’t housed on
Library shelves,
It’s “transient phenomenons”
Found in
Scuffed vintage boots,
The smell of coffee on the breath
Of a cute boy,
Cute boys, doodling,
It’s an outdoor tutorial -
Two picnic tables,
We veer off topic in the sun.
Everywhere-
Thing-
Is poetry.
The discomfort of
Feeling old,
The frustration of
Feeling young,
Alexander Gharam Bell jokes,
Missing my giggle-snort
Best friend and our
Midnight play
(Secret hip-hopera.)Poetry is
Lacking,
Is the stuffing,
Tricks,
(“Illusions, Michael!”)
Allusions, Meghan.
Poetry is hearing a poet
Discuss his poetry
Pompously
Self-mythologizing,
My first-year nose wrinkles
In response.
(Writer-me harumphs
In cross-armed
Paranthesis)Poetry is finding out
This literature professer
Found grade twelve “boring,”
And did not finish
High school,
Making that
Two
Of the smartest men I know
Sans that specific secondary diploma.
Everywhere
Is notable,
Quotable,
Every day a verse,
Every month a free-fall
Through seasons.
Pounding sounds of
The big smog,
Sixties twist and shout
Stuck in my throat,
The eye contact of
A woman made of
Light and steel.
She catches my
Not-so-stealthy stare.
I am writing a poem
About her striking features
With glimpses,
Poetry zings
Through my body when
She notices.Poetry is
Everywhere,
Does not take action,
Encompasses the soul
Or stands to all sides,
It is the natural
Functioning
Day-to-day,
Microscopic purpose
Macroscopic perspective.
It lives,
It waits
To be noticed,
Loved,
Transformed
Into a poem. -
visual poem….ish????
-
emotionally gangly
tea. tom waits. a monday night
spent with a giant philosophy textbook,
“But I just know there’s got to be more”
taking breaks when
the numbness breaks
cheek, jaw glints
splash drip -
a tear stain on Hume,
blue ink on my duvet -
gripping my highlighter
for dear life,
and it’s a dear life
that feels too small
for moral relativity,
too huge to rattlle so in my skull.
and tom sings,
“i strive for purity,
and I slip just like the stars
into obscurity.” -
than sinning
a generation dosed in hand sanitizer.
drugs to take for every tick we make.
and we label, label, we label.my friends throw out their jackets when the lining rips.
the man at Upside Dive
sold me my purple peacoat half off,
we made the torn lining the silver, not the cloud.
what can i do but glamorize my poverty?
what can i do but glare quietlyrolling my eyes at the privileged.
counting my blessings and burnt-out hours.
i try to see freedom, not cannots,trying not to define myself by what’s missing.
barter the world down to affordability.
living beyond my means. -
epicure
in red lipstick i make
note of the flowers
in meek girls’ hair,
when the un-stylish give it a try.i am horrified behind my wine glass,
i am towering over party guests,
i don’t need high heels to be cruel.we’ve trekked down bathurst and
climbed up a flight of stairs,a sense of time travel wafts through the speakers,
1920’s jazz, toulouse paintings,
brass decor, brass in my blood.the elite are here, the nobodies in the corner.
why is the inside of my head a grade school playground?
why am i sizing everyone up, what do they have that i don’t?
i’m missing something, i’m quietly
knocking the others
down dead,
dead as my eyelined blue,
cloudy with judgement.mid-party and i’ve
retreated into my bitch-skull…i’m tired with my mask.
smiling at the elderly,
pouring them tea at the matinee.
crumbs of cookies displayed,
can’t i kill this cheerful barista?
i vomit her up at 2pm every saturday,
she is driving me crazy —i spy the birthday woman,
looking too beautiful for her age,
soft and clear and gentler
than me, her daughter’s age.
i melt into her arms and we
swap stories of running ragged at school,
of pajama parties with casts of 90’s sitcoms kept close by in their box sets.
she softens me to someone real,
someone flawed,
someone between silly and brilliant.there is no one to apologize to,
no need to snap,
i shake my hair, i laugh,
no one sings happy birthday but the room still swings. -
future
we’re adults who knock knees
like nervous kids,
thighs together like teens in the backseat
of our older, sober ride.
your fingers find the rings on mine,
nails, pay-attention polished.
palms pressed suddenly,
(child-like) (excitement) (simple)
clasped together when no one’s looking.i place a piece of my time in your hand.
-
added tags to old posts
#my poetry will take you to just that.
haha…someday i’ll write a poem that doesn’t involve my bones shattering, unrequited romance or the word ‘silent.’ maybe.
-
Thursday
A smogless sky
The trees reach up,
Dead question marks.
Where are the stars?
Confused injured roots,
If they could walk,
They’d limp.
I’m mostly poison anyway
So what does it matter?
There’s your lie!
Claimed to be untellable.
My dissatisfaction;
I take compliments as
Insults, spun,
Caught off guard.
Is that the goal?
You’ve reached it,
Mimed puking in nearly empty
Wine glasses.
Conversations skirted
I glance I hungrily glance
Then face the moment
In the corner,
The young (just so
barely not even that much so.)
I worked for the poison
I clutch I work for I can
Smile and laugh on demand!
The earnest, the skeptic.
What is the soil of the city soiled with?
Longing, for the natural,
Starving for the salt
Of youth, not even,
Of the past, perhaps.
It’s all a game,
I’m winning! I claim.
But I’m losing I’m losing
You again,
Always generating hope,
Again losing truthful hope.There can never be a forest here
The concrete buildings
And unspoken knots
Leave my skin, the bark
Raw and real and
Setting off, wrapped
East, South, East
Of reaching,
Of bumping jolts,
Of Meeting.
