Poems

Soothe the savage

Music is an icecream headache.
Previously analgesic, milked beats dry
crammed with codas like aspirin.

Kick-drum lemon juice, stinging
salt semitones, play into wounds
needles score deep vinyl scratches.

New quiet drugs need a spin.
Lift an arm to hear full circle
turn the tables on silence. Rotate.

 

 

Tropical Fruit

for Tracy


Flattened softly to floor
behind the headboard:
condoms wilt like wet flowers
butterflies damp
from the chrysalis
testament of wings.
Blue Pols chef
flinging graceless wine
avocado oil and mango
the artistry of dinner
sliced tomatoes
drop like ripe paint
canvas the floor.
Hair and dress spin
exotic flight of silk
she crumples suddenly
bruised tropical fruit
we cradle her brief tears
she swings counterpoint
on brilliant feathers.

 

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