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She ripped my tongue out The moment I spoke And hung it On a string Thin as dental floss In between alphabetic breasts Whose white lips Mouthed the letter Y, Which was, after all, The only word I could say While she walked away With my voice.
A toothbrush thrown Over the top Of an apartment Tells the story Of the end Of a love Better than this Poem could ever. * The toothbrush twists In the air In ways which dentists would not recommend But have nonetheless wondered about And probably tested Because there it goes Moving unperturbed As though it … Continue reading
Everything is possible under the sun If you just bend and bow And sway under a disco ball That is stuck and heavy in the sky Just like the dancers beneath it Who step on concrete In hopes of becoming as Solid and complete But who often forget that there are cracks Caused by the same baking … Continue reading
She smiles The birds matching The arch Of her lips With their wings And I’m lifted If only for a little while Until the birds squawk Louder than her words Which say something something About something something else, Though I’m sure the sentences Vibrate into the sky Tickling the webbed feet above Like feathers on … Continue reading
Everyone dies in the summer When the sun doesn’t set. It just sits in the sky Like a scar that won’t heal But instead only gushes Hot, infected, Blood Over everything. It is murder in broad daylight.
There is a poem about unhappiness That is written so beautifully That the author who penned it Knew she would never scrawl Something like it ever again And so she got up, Put a gun into her mouth, And clicked Only to find that she had Picked up a water gun instead That shot a … Continue reading
I’m in a bathroom and so is she, a hair found in the inside of my pee-pee. Did she put it there or did I, when we were kissing, foundling, a sexual goodybye? I pull it out, the buoy in a rumbling sea Piss screams, and we bleeds from me.
The candle starts tall Before sputtering To burn bright, Bright enough to make It small And smaller yet Until it is only a wick And a weak flame That could light The whole house on fire.
Mizpellt wurdz 