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After She Gets On the Bus These are the euthanasia mornings when the 609 moon is steel a raised sepia nipple heavy with wet light waiting for some bigmouth to suckle the verse out of this is how you craft your own fate out run the cops and out live the rest keep breathing long
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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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“…Light Dominion Over Gravity.” “I am Coyote-Old-Man. My medicine is strong, I am not afraid.” -Coyote-Old-Man Why do we always begin with a platitude and end with a cliché. While our dreams flee the rising sun And chase their shrinking shadows west into tomorrow we approach each other light Wave Beam Wave Beam Wave Beam
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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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Bird Flew for Robert Trammell silent as sentient shade a colossal crow wheels golden eye over Mecca and drops something it has stolen from its beak sometimes when I walk down the Lakewood’s sloping sidewalks I see your reincarnated corpse skin shriveled as a shaved scrotum ants crawling over unblinking eye and I stand here
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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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I have lived long enough that I have become a stranger to myself many times. I read a few poems in an old chap book. Poetry the soul remains from the ashes of that man.
Joey Cloudy online 