Echo's
Poetry:
April-July,
2001
Still Life
In the graveyard of foreboding the
plates tempt,
full of apples of eves and adams
of electrons-
fibers of quill might; our spine
conducting bone chilled stone
center.
Gallows
Gallows and guillotienes,
Ships and tides.
A miiserable landscape-
Creativity hides.
The stalker of night
Chilled
Thrives,
Unfolding his bones
In parched desert.
Bound
Roots over feet like
Home-
Something to take a machete to,
Because it's time we
Had our own.
Heaven
I'm not highjacking love,
Or thumbing rides
To somewhere more perfect.
There's no siphoning gas
Or waiting tables
On someone so loving;
For I've already found you.
So no one presume
That I'm halfway to heaven
(My guitar habit keeps me
Stationed partly in hell!)
When one glimpse of this
Man, or a mirror pic
of myself in his arms
Brings the eternal
To my lips.
Taint your wine
And sin my kiss-
For I truly experience
Eternal divine!
Mass Market Retreat
In place of holiness,
I found...
a plethora of teenage smokers
who always managed to [move around]
to do the nasty with someone
they've just met.
Wineless Laughter
Cannot recall
Days before you
played that piano.
Even though the keys are slippery
(Making me sneeze, the
Electric dust!)
And the tune slips away
(Even to my not-so-perfect-pitched
mind),
There you are sitting professional
And sounding like a music box
Carousel gone out to play
In nineteen-ten,
Come home with love
And spaghetti made dinners
To share a laugh over
Having no wine.
A Nothing Girl
Ah, the aching back of
A nothing girl.
She- hunched,
(IS SHE TURNING binary?!)
eye straining
fast typing
slow thinking
post modern...
exquisite form,
Design.
All for a bowl of cereal.
She really missed breakfast, though,
Quitting waitressing.
That's all you'll remember.
Lucy
I was dreaming today that
Maybe someday he'd buy me that
"Handy Dandy Refrigerator,"
Just like Lucy, loved,
received.
I was believing today that
Maybe someday there would be an
"epic novel,"
Penned for him, by me,
for the world's
become content.
Writing
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