Do love poems write themselves?
Where do the words come from?
From the heart of those who found love
From the heart of those looking for love
From those who have love to give
From me
I looked for love
I found love
I have love to give
Here is my love
under the carport
the grackles cack and complain
that they’re not corvids,
can gift me nothing
but white shit spangles on the cement.
they trill in iambs, Dad-dy Dad-dy,
who had warned me
to cover the chink before spring
when they’d nest again
dropping malformed chicks and more crap.
they rattle at my cat
that springs to my lap,
kneads once,
and dashes away,
discontent.
I blacked out,
Maybe just for a couple of seconds,
But while I got lost
I dreamt of alternate realities,
I was happy,
It was perfect,
But it was off
Because it wasn’t real.
can’t unplug myself
so it goes like this
i’m the villain
the boogiegirl gone bad broken
vengeful pseudostalker screaming
in a vice grip of despair. i just want him
to love me
& i know he doesn’t
so i am going to war with myself
over it. i was naive
to think we could be friends after.
our love
two lambs leading each other
by the neck to slaughter in the name of forging
something unconditional passing through your
mother’s hands since she birthed you & that’s all
that encompasses the worldwomb holding
your epidermis & therefore mine since i loved you
& it wasn’t enough to hold both you & her inside of
me two adults going to battle over their own
identities projection must run
in your blood
to the sync of
rachmaninoff piano concerto no. 2, your bodies
not yet climbing out of the abyss
but humming to the music above them
i must be the music
The first 3 days after a victim of domestic violence leaves her partner are the most volatile. These are the 3 days she is most likely to lose her life.
The number one cause of death for women by an intimate partner is strangulation (not to be confused with choking, which is a natural occurrence rather than homicide or attempted homicide).
Unconsciousness occurs within 11 seconds.
15 seconds can lead to stroke.
20 seconds can result in both cardiac arrest and brain damage.
Death occurs within minutes of unconsciouness and takes only the pressure of a man’s firm handshake, either to the carotid arteries, the jugular, or the trachea.
After an incidence of strangulation, the victim’s chance of homicide from strangulation by the same partner rises 800%, while the chance of recurring strangulation rises 700%; thus, if you are a victim of strangulation, you are highly likely to die by homicide.
In addition to questions pertaining to loss of consciousness and bodily functions, a
Strangulation Reference Guide by the Strangulation Training Institute in San Diego, California, recommends asking a surviving victim the following question: What made the offender stop strangling you?
Keep your arms up
To make yourself look bigger to the cattle
That tobacco stick will not be enough
Be loud, act tough
Dont look like youre rattled
Keep your arms up
Come’on boy, you got the stuff
If you dont turn their head it’ll be a battle
That tobacco stick will not be enough
You can hear them, the bellows and huffs
Stand on your legs, youre not in a saddle
Keep your arms up
Moving 30 head can be rough,
And I’ll tan your hide if you dont stop that babble
That tobacco stick will not be enough
This is it, no longer off the cuff
You can’t run away or daddle,
Goddamit boy, keep your arms up!
That tobacco stick will not be enough
after Tom Hunley’s the Poetry Gymnasium
I Will Never Show You
only tell you
how to break eggs
without getting a fleck
of shell in your omelette
This art calls for an incantation
to a higher being
and a savage use of science
~~~an eruption of membrane
Breathe, you must, three times,
deep, let yourself go;
go inward to where the embryo
waits for the perfect crack
along the rib of the skillet
Ms. Yolk waits for you
to mix the matter of her life
into a messy goo
waits for the fiery elements
to metamorph her into a substance
that will become your body,
the holy communion of your morning
I will never show you
the rural air is crisp in the day,
it doesn’t choke like the night.
then, the road is a
highway through the liminal,
paved on a rampart between this world
and others.
we stop at an old railroad trussell.
in the night, it’s decayed.
rotted away at parts,
but the light fills in
what my mind corroded.
dark and damp in spots,
sunbleached in others,
it’s perpendicular to the road
and spans a shallow creek.
treetops like arrowheads
as well as power pylons
are being grown in the horizon beyond.
forsaking our lack of tetanus shots,
we traverse the path
of stones and discarded steel rods
down to the creek bed,
but a distant tractor’s thrum
from the lot where we abandoned our car,
draws us away.
we hit the road,
Kesha on aux,
drive back to Lexington
and to the nearest gas station
for snacks.
we got lost on that road
one bored Spring night.
today, we decided to come back-
interrogate all its dark spaces
in the light of day.
