In TotalityIn totality I find inebriation-
A snick of latches undone
The stitch-heavy cloth
Sighing, whispering off
And boots dropped like thunder
The lightning dry because
Our skin is sweat-bare
As from an impersonal fever.
Savoring your whiskey breath
That starts in the crux of my shoulder
Rolling up my décolletage
I labor to find your beginning
Wanting to uncoil the storm
low Tlow T1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm too soft and rotten
sacred blood oaths,
or thresholds; a frozen inch of face
the same as light years, oceans,
i'd rather brush my mind with pills
and stick these artifacts of wealth
hard inside your origins
and keep the grass
turning over bucketsperhaps it isn't beautiful,turning over buckets2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lying halfway underwater;
pouring your palladium hopes
down your hands
looking full of shale and broken glass
half lighting whiskey-paper on fire
with that sun tossing in your chest
and all of you rattling
in this thin-skinned pineapple percussion,
the things you're so very sure of, sweltering under
callouses, under sea-
a kaleidoscopic mass of stinging cider-riviera
twisting into your human frame;
but when i say something of protests
you break in,
with too many pinecones waking in your chest, saying,
how lucky how
lucky we are
to be alive to be
oneThey were goldenone1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
All those summers
Rolled into one
as I remember
Green and fresh
we innocently played
Everything was a game
and no one ever lost
of the seaof the seaof the sea1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I came upon an old tired city
on a coast of ocean
on a beach of old white sand
Caught between the forces and the forms
it aged as humans do
built and rebuilt
in different shapes
Events followed one another
and at a change
the humans fled
As life flees a body
and the mind dies
so the old city stands empty
Now it waits
seekerI wander much through such old country,seeker1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
a ghost who's thinking of other ghosts,
missing them and their effects,
an exile from the present, and from past.
The WorkersTheir happiness was amputated upon waking,The Workers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
before the first fibres of sunlight trickled across
the cities early morning traffic,
at the bus stop the flesh carved robots wait,
stone faced, briefcase-anchored
with black and grey suits they stare so straight
forming neat mechanical rows
pawns on the chessboard city bus,
fates seem wrapped in glossy yellow metal,
monologues barked by a dull black dog
drowning out sounds of crow and sparrow
overrun by the misty fog of gasol
flameslost lovesflames1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we call them flames because we burned
we were oxygen
we were fuel
and when the fuel was gone
we were ashes floating
rain took us down to earth
mushed remains together
and when the sun returned
the dry remains
piled into something that had never been
alone as something new
PixieI never had enough faith in you,Pixie1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
my best postmodern pixie friend,
who presses herself against my shoulder
killing her fall with leaning.
You taught me something new
about anxiety today:
how to wake
up when it's morning, how to miss
dactylic illness with the parched
indelicacy of a crinkled sun.
In the eternal rendition you say
your name is always in the vocative
case, and only vocative:
says the girl
who taught a smaller girl to sing,
a girl of thirteen, with the same
nimble character we shared, the same
calderical eyes we shared.
The girl's voice
tumbles out of its weakness:
a chaotic calling out to the deltaic
rush of rain, a grimy smoker's
howl: monadic, suffering, fresh
ApsaraFind me sunken into theApsara1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
lotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,
waist-deep and pink
in sunset, and we will cry:
for three-faced elephants,
for the dancers threading grace
between their fingertips—
until I dress in the heaviness,
a sarong of heat.
Cupping RiceShe collects the rice after weddingsCupping Rice9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Looking for prophecies in her cupped palms
Searching each grain for a story.
She thinks of the children they ought to have
And their names with deeper meanings:
Against birth, defender of man.
A blonde girl
And a precocious boy
Who she knows will one day learn
The language of suicide
Their starfish hands
Never to be the pickers of rice
ExcusesI got the bread,Excuses1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
As you set the table.
Too much rain today,
Tea is running out.
I listened to the seagulls,
As you stared at the trees.
We could feel that way.
(it is not a dream if it is everyday)i no longer have the gall(it is not a dream if it is everyday)1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to write letters to my universe.
it’s stony quiet,
it’s possum eyes in headlights,
in Victrola dust.
some tireless pamphleteer
has wrecked this room
with motorized felicity!
there must be
one bill for every breath,
and now, i see
you are the same.
you’re no magic
planet. i will
some time tomorrow,
mid morning, when the bugs have died,
and drive to work
and i won’t think
that ever came
before that sun.
i’ll trade in shibboleths
and type in pointy letters
these sharp assessments
of fallacies and
that fringe our fates
like breached reactors,
off of old yucca
and they’ll pay me well
and you won’t hear me,
StarsFat and fuzzy stars tonight, baby blue comfortStars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Singing lullabies, soothing through the cold clear night
Promises of spring;
Windowpane lookers, abandon your sorrow
Wide-eyed children, believe that tomorrow
Unseen, the stars
The stars still sing
TiredI am tired, heavy-footed, worn with wear I wear my hairTired2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cold air blows through windows trying to nip the buds
I watch the cigarette smoke whip through the air currents
Saddened by the sun's insistence, shining on a day like
I am rust, I am crushed metal, junkyard darkness, graveyard
I can't remember when I remembered what I'm trying so hard
Fire in oil drums replace the sun and the screaming and singing's
I can't sing anymore, like Clancy can't, and the noise in my head's a
prey.i'm a collection of curves in your cycle:prey.11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a single revolution of your rhythm,
my taste a mile marker.
my hunger is satisfied by your rapture,
and devoured by your voracity.
starving to be grasped, claimed,
and consumed, I feed death— give in,
swallow black relief —your belly round
and warm with the scrapings of my bones.
bury my leavings and tell me reincarnation
is a lie.
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
sadists are people, toothis sun has found its nihilistssadists are people, too1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
on cold curbs,
on concrete roads.
everyday, one of them guards the subdivision.
i thought, “a sphinx, a totem piece, an angel of death.”
whatever, my sleepy projectionist.
it’s on my way anywhere.
it’s on my way home.
silver-brown maw, it’s at its ugliest
shriveling inside of possum flesh
in a slow taut hug
of the last empty
i won't be caught up
just lay there
shallowit's not your beautiful faceshallow2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that i love
it's how you ruin it
ThrownBones heapedThrown1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like uncaught bonfires.
Crash lander, skyborn,
splintered like frostbitten stones,
like trees fallen deep
from the snow line.
Eulogy of a man that was,
and the name of his lover written
in femurs, vertebrae and ribs,
waiting for the thaw,
the salmon and the sea.
All memories carried by wolves
to their starving cubs.
Open skull for the rainfall
and the birds.
The landscape of skin
imprinted on the ground.
A fading map
with footstep borders
in the tide of time.