poetry: results 625–648 of 735
Across vast distances in space, one cat calls to another;
a bat swings round a lamppost like a satellite.
Autotomy in spiders is a voluntary act.
With such surprises, anticipation should have them
humming like the truck of wear-dated carpet
that idled all night in the Hardee's parking lot.
The secret lies in elevation; in the erection of it, its meaning, what it relates to. The concept of the finite gave way to loss. Dream gave way to prophecy.
Nothing is something. The sky diminishing during earth's first tilt toward fall.
Did you know the ocean has a skin this morning, a real skin of light, like a newborn? October turning tropical.
oh I cannot mention what I saw but I will tell you that it involved a celebrity.
there comes a time in which, no matter how important poetry may be, it seems more important to go out and buy throw pillows.
Not hay. Too singular. Not chaff, not grain. Something Pre-Socratic about its attraction to living heat, stable dung. Not lace. Not grass-whistle…
Dreams that no matter what button you push, the floors keep flicking past, 33, 34, 35, that you're walking on a long bridge, no land in sight…
Today, it's the rise
and billow of sheets
on the clothesline, the necessary
rectangles snapped, bleached…
See the hand: root-like and hooked.
Notched knuckles, scars traveling
veneer of brown skin. See how it crowds
the skull, pushing inward, depraved…
2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4
Let us first think about our spines.
Twitching in the harmless outfit. See blades
& sockets, then dinosaurs. Then see the scar
of string through our center.
The sun hit the water;
a crowd followed its moving light:
how they hated you, how they loved you.
There's much to do in a sleeping house
though this means silence, little light,
talking to myself.
Even the cats don't wake…
Tell me, please, how to sail
down the corridors of my hair,
shield my glabrous eyes, apprehend
the white flash off the ripe arc…
I wonder will you
when your cherry popping daddies stop…
The ice refreezes
before the feet walk home.
Feet sinking in the Wal-Mart parking lot, walls thick and soft
as mattresses crawling up. Windproof, soundproof, dizzy
from the world buzzing around, hummingbirds hovering
to see how much sweetness they can get before the cup…
We were a plane angle of a sort, inclined
to one another in a plane not lying in a straight line.
Her husband might know, or worse, she herself
might find out, seeing as the whole affair…
I was once told the infant's eye
is able to drink water
from a curved leaf in China,
and when they sleep…
Some nights, birds take form
from nests of twisted barbwire,
or if not birds, something similar—
a coyote or your mother's hand.
When Lisa falls to Anneke falling in Lisa
songs assimilate an auburn cup:
martins are privy to glass, to burn
further in the quivering arrow.
2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3
prose poem, light verse
Man walks into a bar with his dog and says to the bartender, "You wanna buy this dog? He recites poetry."
We each bought a sweet roll for a dollar
at Ed's. Cecil unrolled his tape measure
and the damn things were exactly a foot square.