Philadelphia Man
His gentle, oak eyelids are shut against the golden morning.
poems
Tears
Tears are so quiet It’s people that make the noise Gasping and yelling Listen to the tears They speak the truth of your heart There’s love in each one No ratings yet.____You must be logged in to rate this post.
Interstate Pessimist
BABY ON BOARD thinks people can change No ratings yet.____You must be logged in to rate this post.
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Bones
I drove past a pile of bones yesterday. Sitting in the hot sun, melting slowly into the pavement as my car sped by.
Terrance Hayes Made Me Do It
Gone are those warm, emerald leaves of summertime, gone.
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“Holding My Breath”
All we aim to do is capture that Thing which can not be captured, and I hold my breath hoping It will not notice me, a humble, starving worshiper at the altar, snapping a photograph.
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“The Garden”
There is a photo, in a box, in a closet, deep in the house, of my grandmother in her garden.
how honey is made
I am overcome with the sweetness As I swallow myself As i learned to swallow him I create a new sensation Sweet, thick Honey on my sleeves On my hands Lips pursed in something like pleasure Similar to the way the statues we pitied Stays frozen in their agony When you ask what it
blood in the moonlight looks like water
I am by your side the grass is wet so we stay still keep the slick on our backs keep the sin in the past we hold each other like we weren’t broken a snake’s bite and a bone’s snap ago a moment before the new moon a moment too late the danger wasn’t the
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