poetry
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The Last Days of Leather Walking up Goliad listening to the morning song of the old trees, the irises are flying their colors beneath the soft parade of periwinkle clouds being pushed over the rooftops of the gentries three story condominiums just out of reach of the straining finger tips of the oldest trees the
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Natural Born Love Poem “You know, the only thing that kills the demon is love.” -Mallory Knox This is the love poem This is the poem for 5 am lovers separated by class and birth, Walls and war and death, feuds and ancient ancestral hates. This is a poem screaming at mute screens as
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The White Woman’s Burden “When women go wrong, men go right after them.” — Mae West “Women are the only exploited group in history to have been idealized into powerlessness.” –Erica Jong “She’s a rich bitch ya’ know, she was raised by maids.” —Steve Zissui Our master of ceremonies has just been informed that we
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As If for Robert Trammell As if the breath of a poet could resurrect the dead bird silently decomposing in the slate colored street. The curb ascends, a tombstone for so much road kill; a squirrel here, a cat there, somebody’s whistling calling a dog that cannot answer but this mourning the bird with Verona
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One Time In The Corner Tonight there will be no lies about how your perfect breasts are full as the moon. Nothing from the night sky has fallen into your eyes. The lie of the metaphor is no more desirable than the lie of omission. “I do not know which I prefer” the beautiful lie
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Dead Baby Blue for Robert Trammell Beware, Life is not a dream even when dead birds lying drunkenly in the gutter suddenly straighten Verona feathers stand on broken feet of poems vomit a gut full of idealistic maggots eyes swimming against the … bone, (alabaster, ivory, eggshell, porcelain, pearl,) undertow of parasitic insights bitch-slap the
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Love in the Time of Corona with apologies to Márquez “I don’t believe in God, but I’m afraid of Him.” I break my tongue in prayer like a pagan Pilgrim little deaths in the wake of obliteration “Kneel before the object of our liberation” Drink from the fountain over the temple’s door They ain’t got
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No More Moon Dreams The Moon ! The Moon ! The bloody moon It’s about to drive me bloody loon. My heart, my heart, my broken heart You may as well ignite your farts. And when was the last time you rode a horse Or wrote a line in you own voice? Someone dead and
Joey Cloudy online 