COVID poetry

What is a painter without their muse?It’s an amusing question to ask.Can we take seriously what is madewithout the use of nouns?People, places, things.All these to be avoided.When your musingsAre found at the bottomsOf pill bottles and the endsOf spliffs – I know so fewWho are quick to smoke meUpstanding citizens they are.I find the…

Salinger used to jokeThat I was IlliterateI’d go to scratch Quinnie’s itchAnd say I’d rather hear her voiceThan decipher the sapphic looksShe hid in hymnsI thought to text a postcardFrom El DoradoTell tales of the Garter Snake in SaltLakeTalk of the Angel out of gasA hundred miles outside ofThe City of SinThere were seconds in…

Despite distracted tendencies to the latterI find myself in ill natured reciprocity withA faithful familial fondness for inequityAnd the desperado I feed tidbits and scraps toUnderneath a table — Linen lined -Not like dollies or lace,But simple and flatA sheer sort of canvas for the mistreatmentOf fallen foodsFoul finds its way into the stomachs that…

I rose from the dead on a quiet Wednesday morning to enjoy the sunrise.I sat stealing in the blueWanting not for a moment longer than the last flickers of the lightning bugs.The music play on through the background, championing a somber mood.I let a smile fade from my mind and on to my face.A peek…

Not quite touching (the posts of our bed) we laid ignoring the alarms we set last night. Simply put they were quite calls to the height of our love, even when we were at their lowest bars – A singing phraseShe starts -Asking away for the dark notes of a rich melody of things we…

Outside, against the grindI fell towards the wallLeaning on my denim,presentBlack cords, docs – makeupMy brandUnwittingly playing vigilante with the street noiseI pretend to be warm to seem cool in the cold.I steal a glance – dating timeAs impatience is my virtueTouching on ethics – I’ve embracedHot drinks bring out the Yankee in both of…

When making meaning, it’s good to know What you think.It helps to tell delusion and grandeur from façade and factI try to make it easy by dividing my/self in two Writer & PersonThe brain self defeating– Self & The Character, I become. Pretending that things are okay,Tendencies to toss and turn in the quiet of…

A summer sun beat downForest trees ate it’s lightShimm’ring rapids carvedA path in stone we met.The wet dog I wasSwept away by wakesForgetting to breatheChallenged by stoneI prayed for helpPleading my caseDescribing reasonsFor not now leavingTwenty-six, still freshBlooded by faithSurrounded by loveNot quite deservedHow was I to knowSaint Michael himselfWas pulling the ropeClinched to my…

I clean the blood on my finger tipsFrom washing dishes with Lady MacbethShe glances over to tell me I’ve madeA mess – of the nights I’ve spentTossing up my dinner in the basketBesides my bed – an hourglass spills.I awoke, thinking my brother was dead.I texted him an apology.

It’s hard to believe that following an incident of madnessI’d be so quick to look out at the world again as if I knewBy some remote chance that I could be in love againThis isn’t to say thatI’ve fallen for someoneQuite the oppositeI’m opposed to itInstead I now searchHoping for disappointmentTrying to prove that it…