Monday, December 09, 2013


This week, we were assigned to write a poem where we discussed something we aren't supposed to or, we don't normally talk about.  Here is my poem:


There is the fake, rubbery skin body
suit of today against disproportioned

dolls.  There is the sitting outside the glass
window looking into the storefront at
angled mannequins standing insect-still.
Body, like an aluminum pitcher,

gone too full, sweating condensation like
a secret, indecipherable language. 
There are all the bodies we walk into
like nested Russian dolls and the darkness
one body feels void of its sister. There
is the dawn cold breath of miles spun back

and forth in a pool like a skein of thread;
body knifing passage into lukewarm
water.  Eyes searching the black threaded floor for a trap door that opens like a split jaw.

There are the word clouds.  The rewriteable
text of the self, redefined daily. There
is the noise that singes at the day like static.
And there is the cake on the counter that grins
like a friend despite what you've heard.

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