Medulla Poem

 

I was just sitting here when someone stole my umbrella

“At least they’re keeping dry” I thought

I am not the subject of 300 sonnets

Because I have no grace

And because I am like the echo of a burgeoning chainsaw

And some kind of indistinguishable yellow crop

And also besides that

Love is just an occasion for poetry

And a reason for me to love you

When the air goes sour and sharp between us

I like for you to tell me how to feel

It is a childlike brutality

It is like holding a candle to the sun

You can study it in 3 million paintings of your long legs

And in my medulla oblongata

The place where you were born inside me

Before I was even born

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Punk Poem

 

I don’t know

Is punk still a thing?

I should leave the boys alone I think

Let them move to New York

It means something different now

It means they will build software

I tuck my shirt half in and wonder if it is right

Well it’s too late now

I thought that boy was a trashcan

I said and laughed

And looked around and noticed I was alone

There is nirvana but there is no one to talk to

I can’t remember my dreams

But I remember you

And that is something 

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Fantasy Poem

 

You are like your own evil twin

It is like entering a world of dangerous flowers

It is like watching a wolf fight a fox

It is like a lazier double fantasy

I am made quite speechless

By the flowers and by Spring

And by how one day the earth will just stop

It is an inordinate amount of feeling

It is actually undignified

It is like crashing your own funeral

It is like a suicide note that goes on too long

It should have been more like laying down

In a benevolent flower