my poetry

All posts in the my poetry category

and in the spring she becomes a giant lung

Published May 6, 2013 by pipsqueak

expanding with a gasp, gulping in the fresh air
she unfolded herself and allowed herself to breathe
she is aerated, the yellow sunlight glowing through
her skin, illuminating that soft shadow of her bones
and the trails the mice gnawed through her
during the stiffling winter, when she was packed away
in moldering cardboard boxes in a musty basement
but now her thread-veins, which doodle through her flesh
like the roots of slender-stemmed violets.
they pump as lively quick as a baby bird heart.



Published April 24, 2013 by pipsqueak

i understand the sorrow of the solemn, round-faced teenage girl
who wears long denim skirts on Fridays with her sisters
and reads the dusty words of the Brönte sisters
she frowns upon her drunken, asinine peers – the fools!
but secretly she craves the flare, the fire of that brash athlete
who tramples and roars with his brash athlete cronies
he goes home and slumps on the side of his bed
blank, deflated of all movement
where the framework of approval is lost
in this boneless aloneness, he will certainly covet
the independence from the crack pipe of popularity
possessed by the pink-haired student
who talks back, snorts, flips the bird
and carves knotty roots upon his desk with a ballpoint
when his classmates call him a queer
but he is not free either. he sees me and wishes for
my goofiness, my guileless and earnest greetings
i’m like a fat pound cake, preserved and pre-packaged
so you can fully enjoy each moist tender morsel

now i envy no-one more than the petrified redwood
whose bark tears up the insides of the insects who bite it

can poems change anything?

Published April 15, 2013 by pipsqueak

poem, i thought you were here for “closure”
what is that? it’s nothing i’ve known to happen
and liquid memories trickle through the seams
of the cardboard boxes in the attic of my mind

they cannot hold the gentle one i let wander too far in
even though i saw the thrash of agony in her
i didn’t know that she would grow so wrathful
and she barreled right through my ribs

and the fingerprints fade, but i can’t forget
the lattice of overwrought bruises
that we slapped on each other, plastering pains on pains
instead of making the slow choice to be gentle

worse than the slow-burn of pain, the flash of joy:
now i have ceded the authority of my reality
to those who have never learned my secrets,
not trusting the erratic flap of my own
butterfly-wing mind

put it down, let it go

Published April 7, 2013 by pipsqueak

maybe your voice was a sonic boom that shuddered my insides
the tiny quirks of your fingers traced sparks on my skin
and the contours of your mind were my favorite maze

maybe so, darling, but since then
i have yanked off the tablecloth, broke the bone china
you were so sad about the stains!

now my ears ring with the cacophony of breaking
we tiptoe backwards, crumbling away, stumbling over debris
and shouting apologies into the middle distance

vers de printemps

Published April 6, 2013 by pipsqueak

today i snuck away from the formation
shucking off my regimental blues
my gold epaulets are askew
and the tongue lolls in my black boots
but i am radiant in the drunken morning

i capper through spring mist
whistling birdsong with my scratchy voice
i run my hands through the greenery
ripping out lush handfuls of leaves
twisting the flower stems until
they fray and tumble into my hands

i bruise the petals
with the pads of my fingertips

A Poem For A Bad Day

Published March 19, 2013 by pipsqueak

when you scramble to find the solid substance in you

when you shrink back like a wounded puppy at every noise

and the world keeps pulling at your loosening seams

you are brittle, crumbling on the outside

and soft as tenderized oysterflesh within

go the innermost chamber of your secret sanctum

tell the graceful butler at the door

no visitors today

listen to the softest of love songs

where the singer’s voice trembles with tenderness

and the drum is the rhythm of blood in your veins

carrying you nutrients, crimson vitality, and warmth

break the emergency glass in your ribcage with an axe

remove the  fire extinguisher and first-aid kit you were born with

with potions, bandages, aspirin. and even better

you may, in time, learn a secret alchemy

to transform this turmoil into beauty

and mine from the common rocky bitterness of pain

the rich coal that burns with steady fire

so when the world leaves you dizzy

you twist with the pain, and then the twisting turns to spinning

and as you whirl, a new kind of dance is formed

some days you are gasping for a break from the brutality

try this: the tired woman at the counter when you buy your meager meal

tell her that her nails shine like the inside of a conch shell

this is code for: I recognize you as a human

she will reply with the incantation that will bring you back to life:

the perfect syllables of your name

Despair makes a Bad Boyfriend

Published February 3, 2013 by pipsqueak

You’ve pushed me away for too long

And now I rise to the surface, trailing dead things and the scent of panic

I will stop up your ears and mouth with rotted linen

I will coat your eyes in weariness

I will twist your precious viscera

And leave you feeble and quaking,

Rocking back and forth mechanically on twisted sheets

To lull me into dullness

And I will lay quiet in the dark beside you

Then wake you, gnawing on your ears

Oh, the things I have planned for you, my love

I will waltz you without rest

I will make you dizzy

I will dip you down low