poem
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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
Joey Cloudy online 