Posts
-
Bourgeoisie Rebellion
Fashion is ritual:
a bourgeoisie motif of rebellion,
against our own skin,
against the vapid notion of nothing,
against the stifling notion of everything.
Legitimacy granted by repetition: -
Jubilation
Jubilation
has been on my mind.
To throw my hands and heart to the sky,
wearing a yellow wedding dress,
would fill me full.
But yesterday
it rained.
And it was lovely. -
Harmony
Informed by chaos,
our feet tickle God’s ground.
I dreamed of a garden last night,
with big round fruit,
as red,
as pink,
as lips.
I dreamed of Paris. -
Grandma Moon
The moon lives down the lane. I knock on her door when I want to be seen with kind eyes that have watched me become from a neighbor's distance.
The silver lining of extraordinary times -
Moments
I just went through Tiny Writes and collected all the haikus I had written. I tried to make a cohesive poem out of them. Can find any common threads weaving the stanzas together?
The morning lips part -
A Yellow Heart
The rain is falling,
wet hair,
wet streets,
wet flags.
We whoop,
splashing mud puddles
with our yellow rubber boots.
Embroidered on tie dye fabric,
Loves
-
Love Me Like Fog
love me
like the fog –
like the fog loves december –
for the winter gets blurry
and it's hard to remember
hold me
like the fog –
-
Meese is the Plural of Moose
Her eyes were not fixed on god but rather on the large taxidermied moose head fixed above the choir on the wall across from where she sat. It may as well have been him.
-
The Gift
I learned that butchering purity is ungodly,
yet on the silver platter, I see a snow lamb as fired slabs. -
-
Autumn's Harvest
As the years go by,
the seasons may become a blur,
but late in the evenings of autumn,
you’ll hear the wind start to sigh.
-
The Words my Mother Gave Me
I wrote a poem today, but I don't think anyone will ever see it
I wrote it using nothing
