Floral straight jackets hiding women It’s too pretty to get dirty High high heels knees tremble at the long way down It’s like watching ceramic doe on ice Grandmothers protested their actual sturdiness Rejecting the nonsense neatly paved imperatives of…
Outside my window there is steam and there are lights in a skyscraper where people sit at their desks and the lights let them work. I bought two hot tamales from the Mexican food cart hoping it would warm me….
I’m hunting for ghosts, In alleys lit by memories, Phantoms of yesterday, Carved out of my mind. What I once held, You me and our dreams, Scraped knees and screeching swings, Pokémon cards and shiny things. Caught between childhood and…
Knows the heart ache of canaries. Hummimg bird to spilt milk No friends same dress Pearls that rarely dance Five dollar rose bouquets Without a stanza even Hefty husband beer kisses On the cheek Crazy kids wandering these streets Parental…
She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin as the image the image the image swung through her mind like a pendulum …
[Ring, Ring, Ring] The telephone rings but I don’t want to answer On the other side is someone who I’m running away from [Ring, Ring, Ring] I pick up and hang up They call again Utter silence throughout my end…
Coincidence did not cause the young man’s cheek to share the curve of mine in his gray, buttered face. His finger-combed hair wet with grease, his white, Sunday shirt folded one flip from his wrists as he squints, grins, leans…
I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day of our meeting- Yet like two old friends Reuniting After years apart, The warm embrace…
Meet me in the mountains Of Oregon (Washington’s been having too many fires). It won’t be hard to find me- Just look for the earthship, There aren’t too many. And the big plot of land All set up for you…
Tomorrow is that glint in your best friends’ eye, When he proposes a daring plan. Tomorrow is that rainbow glinting in the sky, Reminding you that you’re not alone. Tomorrow is a fanciful dream taking flight, All sunshine and sparkles…
I miss your coffee-covered breath, Early in the morning. It made me hungrier than death For a thrill without a warning. I miss your sweet saliva smell; I miss your cigarette-stained lips. Your yellow teeth as well, And your garbage-covered…
*synth beats* bright plastic blue screen green screen *auto-tune screams* chunky glasses tuned-in apathy *boy band* drive fast die young pretty corpse *twangy guitar* “kids today” kids tomorrow you tomorrow *pop radio* tinted glass psychedelic holographic unrelated imagery The featured…
A dream of a 1920s quasi-candid shot of Debby Harry, mingling graciously among a grandiose Studio 54 scene. Spray the lens of my life with hairspray, too! Sorry, how petty I am. Strangling a waist and shoulders with wires and…
he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry sand in his eyes is a personal affront. he’s pretty sure psychologists would have a…
Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms, sharp at their sides. One of those things you stare at open-mouthed, barely breathing, waiting…
I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart of anti-democratic men but with a plenitude of carbon based efforts trying to truncate all…
maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems to me all as vanished from our worlds galaxies and cliques. much poetry has propelled into…
The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments And greatest terrible wars Were all done for the sake Of a loving God, For…
The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘Uninspired’, have been used with the permission of artist Patricio Betteo. About Patricio Betteo: Patricio Betteo, son of south-american parents, was born in Mexico City in the late 70’s. Since 1999 he has focused…
In our attic, among things, as it seems of past lives, lives a bitter God. When guests come to our house, we don’t mention him. When we’re alone, we talk about him quietly, fearing of being heard. We do not…