COVID-19 RESOURCES
LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

007 Challenge

seven

I’m ready
it’s time to dance
spinning my soul open
stepping off the world
onto the floor

my face is caked
redder lips
deeper eyes
smooth and smelling
of paint
and magic

at the edge
I almost see the crowd
dull shouts
reaching hands
thickening the air
until I can fly
 
1

What worth there is in this body
Is soluble. Malleable or edible. Easily
transferred. Inherited.
Inhaled. These
Little passengers alone endure--
Clicking under tongue
Those few dearest
words which reassemble
Into cooing phonemes
Or howls that fade
Through branches,
Into other throats,
Stronger lungs.
 
Last edited:
2

Murder porn cycles over the tube again:
The cold remains,
the assembled clues, the FBI
Bursting in after 36 minutes.

The worst part is the music
heavily edging us forward.
Pretending we should be surprised.
Of course the babysitter
stays in the house after the phone call. Of
Course no one checks the back seat
Before turning the key in the dark sedan. Victims
never hear the minor chords rising
Behind their heads before they fall-- flailing
Ineffectually to demise
between commercial breaks

Until the last one in the set
Reunited and tearful--
Hansel found at the edge of the wood
Where the witch yet picks her teeth.
 
Last edited:
1- Trauma Experiences

The tracheostomy is a hole
Patent artificial breathing sutured
In the trauma throats bloody
Least of the worries.

The blue corrugated tubing~
And a ventilator ding machine.

Is a leash chain patent airway
It is bondage to the dead beds.
But you are not dead she said.
And this nightmare is not over.
 
3

Post-mortem, in my dreams, her voice
rings, saunters, suedes with tone
as it did when she lullabied the cotton fields back home
(ba da boom boom boom in her long, pale arms).

Across two decades, I hear her
as if she had never had to press the machine
against her neck just above
the scarf that hid the hole.

Explanations were necessary after the secretary
hung up on her at work; after the nurse
picked up pieces of warning that had been
posted to her hospital door.

Who could tell them, "This woman
was a mustang who read Sexton, Rand, Updike,
drawn to danger even midst the polite
book club. Even gardening."
Even now, it is not the machine I hear. Not the tar
coughed lung. It is her sung love
I kept. Father was wrong about that--
She had a beautiful voice.
 
Last edited:
2.

It is cotton and twill tape
These ties that are not tape
But we call it that anyway

It is the gauze of a lifetime
We call it (K)Cling wrap around
Our memories

The inner cannula is fresh
Routine clean gently
Care into the soul’s hole

The monitor is a piano
We listen to fresh air songs
Around the equipment

The beep ding beep beep
We can’t hear it---
We hear the love sung songs.
 
3.

Wounds- we own them
with name-date-time-

Wounds- we pack them
with small strips and tweezers

Wounds- we stuff them
with chemical debridement

Wounds- we wrap them
with gauze over stumps

Wounds- we own them
Like our own wounds.

Wounds- we are the wounds.
 
4

Egg arch horizon
Eyes the slow dust dragged
Footpath between letters
Numbering up

(This is education)
Numbering up

Measure every six weeks

Until years later
We peck out.
 
5

baddah baddah baddah
Punctuates the scuffing of cumin
Pumped heels
On the plate

(FUCK I HATE AUTOCORRECT ON THE ---------
FIRST LETTERS OF BROKEN LINES
GODDAMN
GODDAMN
GODDAMN)

My apologies dear reader.
But the outburst was justified.
God Damn Microsoft.

But back to the story.
Somewhere in Egypt, Greece, Portland or Buttfuck Texaca
The plate got dusted

By the aforementioned heels with
aforementioned cumin.

ACK.
Caught in my throat.

Here's where my fairy godmother landed me cleats.

You thought I could never make home.
 
Last edited:
6

Ceiling Art
Gynecologically:

I'd prefer cinnamon nipples
to a Bassett bitten Lollipop.

(Some sick bastard
Coddling the canine oddity with sweets?)

I'd tape photos of penises
to the drop tile
As both enticement and warning.
 
Last edited:
4.

Warm woolen socks
With a worsted heart.

I am allergic to wool
Except on my feet.

Those fucking blankets
They worked in those winters.

The wicked winters of innocence.
What went wrong we will not know.
 
5.

It is play catch poetry day
And I have a pocket full of red thread
Letters on balls.

A big bucket of balls
On a mountain of dust dirt
And the pitch is a (2).

Curve throws or fast pitch
Catchers catch all feel good sting
And the batter is always out.
 
6.

playcatch said:
You do, then, embroider your balls?
Click to expand...

My mouth around a Rawlings™
And the ball is designed major
Major league loving

My care is the stitching
This heart is the casing
It keeps the inside of his happy

Safe and warm without worry.
He is pitching release--
I am the catcher and the mitt.
 
7 High Court

For Tonya
Who flattens hierarchy while recognizing the power of hierarchy

Your pitch archs high, an easy lob
Followed by eyes risen above readers.
Over wine glasses. We checkerboard
Pleasantly this afternoon. You
Are a poet, mentioned casually after I claimed I used to be.
Poetry lover. Reader. Writer. But
Really. You are a poet. And I see the confusion
On your face when I mention the name of the
poet
Who burned crosses on my lawn. Who published then unpublished,
who barked from the corner. You'd never heard of her,
After all. It was silly, after all. It was refuse that became fetish.

I tell you my name means bee in Hebrew.
Wasp in Arabic. Later
I whisper it under the readers,
Into your perfect ear.
 
Last edited:
1 Sunday Service

cat's apple head
naps in the curl of her
resting foot

folding my knees
behind hers four of my fingers
slide under her
luxurious lip of belly
while thumb hums the rim
of her navel

sun glazed shoulder
warms my lips
contentment is our incense
 
Last edited:
2 rearview fresheners 20 minutes before a wedding

leather tree smells like overcologned cabbie
pine smells like medicated foot talc
vanilla smells like medicated foot talc
and so on

we hide in this conversation
without pronouns

now for the daily news

one reads highlights aloud to the other
who unsnaps the tree
 
Last edited:
This bore rereading. I think it's quite moving.

sweepthefloor said:
It is cotton and twill tape
These ties that are not tape
But we call it that anyway

It is the gauze of a lifetime
We call it (K)Cling wrap around
Our memories

The inner cannula is fresh
Routine clean gently
Care into the soul’s hole

The monitor is a piano
We listen to fresh air songs
Around the equipment

The beep ding beep beep
We can’t hear it---
We hear the love sung songs.
Click to expand...
 
7. Move You Angel

playcatch said:
This bore rereading. I think it's quite moving.
Click to expand...
The surgeon bore holes
Into bone and tightened the screws
The crown on a head bone.

While screams--awake--
More Versed the nurse said.
And here is more local.

It is not a question, it is ready
In a plastic syringe full of relief.
“Stop Moving.”

Sleep, sleep a little.
It is not almost over
These weeks will live a lifetime

It is a halo on the head
It is archaic--”Stop Moving”
Your neck is so serious.

Don’t fucking move.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

Lyricalli
March 2024 Poetry Challenge B: Epistles - letters in poetry
2
Replies
42
Views
1K
Ashesh9
A
BernadetteRochelle
April Poetry Challenge 1
3 4 5
Replies
117
Views
2K
Wat_Tyler
Wat_Tyler
Angeline
2024 Poetry Challenge Discussion Thread
2 3 4
Replies
79
Views
1K
42Below
42Below
Angeline
February 2024 Poetry Challenge B: Write An Acrostic Poem
2
Replies
42
Views
1K
Ashesh9
A
butters
January Poetry Challenge A - A 5-word prompt poem
Replies
20
Views
741
42Below
42Below
Back
Top