Regular Poem: Sometimes the fog

17 Apr

Sometimes the fog
is sumptuous
romantic
enveloping
like something
Mr. Rochester might emerge from
out of a niche in a rose garden
and call you his little fool
and embrace you.

Sometimes the fog
is welder smoke
tasting of metal
and somehow
work
dental fillings and steel-toe boots
and it hurts like
a tine in your gums.

Sometimes the fog
is like an abrasive kiss
biting too much to be that
pleasant
but kind of fun
in an aggressive way
and you still taste it
hours later
and your tongue
aches.

Regular Poem: Emergency Diva

16 Apr

“You should’ve been there,”
he says:
“You would’ve owned
somebody’s life.”

He implies
I would’ve ripped a lying heart
out of a brazen chest
and laughed watching
the last slanderous breath
puff out of perfidious lips.

He implies
my words would’ve been
as silver bullets
to their mangy, worthless werewolves.

I say
that’s probably
not
what would’ve happened:
People have the privilege
to be as rude and ignorant
as they choose.
This is America, and
I turn the other cheek.
(Also,
own somebody’s life?
What would I do with another life?
I barely use
my own.)

He says,
“Let me pretend.”
And so
I let him.

I am Julia Sugarbaker.
I am Joan of Arc.
I am Xena, Warrior Princess.
I am anyone
you want me to be–
anyone who will avenge your name
and fight for justice
and generally be the best and baddest bitch.

But do me a favor, and
don’t call for an emergency diva
when I’m already in my robe.

 

Regular Poem: Mermaids

15 Apr

You ever
meet those people who
feel honor-bound to speak
to anyone they
make eye contact with?

Those people
whose eyes
bob
up and down
into and out of
the raging surf
of new faces
and throw out a line
to you–
a raft in the
nameless sea?

And anonymously
and briefly they
befriend you
with an account of their lives
and an inquiry into yours
until they disappear,
words exchanged on a gale,
salty and pleasant
and gone now
and maybe not that real to begin with

like a mermaid?

Found Poem: Payday Loans (IV)

14 Apr

I keep thinking one day I’ll open my spam folder and I won’t have any payday loan comments.  But today wasn’t that day.

CHAPTER VI
MONDAY morning found
payday loans canada payday loans canada payday loans
and goes out of his way
to keep the peace.

Than stupid man
payday loans
enhanced by an eye-glass.

The Best Dressed
The best dressed man and the best
instant payday loans
only hope we have.

He would run and
snatch the
instant payday loans instant payday loans
to myden.

Vaporized when i was eight–at
payday loans
these reinforcements almost as.

He does not mindpaying
a good price if he knows
instant payday loans
over, and thefunerals
would be preached on that morn
Ingenieur Tom shuddered.

Here in the kitchen,
I amwarming myself,
instant payday loans
inclines to be slightly narrower
for its heightthan
the Alimentive head.

Regular Poem: So Many

13 Apr

There are so many
things
to write poems about
and so many words
to write them with.
So many colors
and ideas.
So many reasons
to not lie in bed until one.
It’s a sad wonder
we don’t all wake up
with the sun
and marvel
all day.

Found Poem: Payday Loans (III)

12 Apr

Payday loans are really a gift that keeps on giving.

Still,
I said uncertainly,
whether we hear it or

payday loans
rhbpfajofs
uk payday loans payday loans uk

settled somemonths
before, on account
of an informality
in the report of theproceedings,
which had excited
the attention of
the revisingauthority.

doxsjmjm
payday loans
vvqxhwvk
payday loans online
fvcfate

When they are
wounded
in their quarrels
it is to
payday loans ljunxmoit
payday loans instant payday loans

and crossingthe
Victoria Nyanza,
four thousand feet
above the sea!

 

Regular Poem: Spinster vs. Bachelor

11 Apr

Sometimes
I identify myself
as a spinster
when I’m in a
mood
or more usually
when I want to be especially
spiteful and
obtuse.

It’s really not all that
accurate.

I’m not
moneyed and prudish, an heiress
with a broken heart and a broken engagement
a dusty Ivy League degree
and several cats
living in a dilapidated family manse
lamenting what might have been.

I guess
I could be the
white trash
version of same, if we’re
looking at a checklist
or a dichotomous key.
I certainly
have analogous features.

But I’m really
more of a bachelor.
How many classical spinsters
sing love songs to their hammocks?
daydream about El Caminos?
own convertibles and Glocks?
have pizza and beer with their work buddies on Thursday nights?

But on the other hand,
how many spinsters do we know?
Really know?
Beyond their fabled and occasionally grotesque
appearances in literature?

Maybe a spinster is just
an old-timey bachelor.
A pre-feminism woman
oppressed by language
into relinquishing her
perceived agency
in a patriarchal bargain
for her independence and
a chance to live
blessedly alone.

So maybe
I’m a spinster,
or maybe
I’m a bachelor,
or maybe
I’m not into labels
and just want to be left
in my hammock
with a glass of wine.

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