Laughing Gas (Sunday Collection No. 8)"The sadness is, that every leaf / has fallen before -
At my feet an ant crawling / in the broken asphalt -
and this exact white lollypop stick / & twig of branch / lain next to the soggy match / near those few grassblades ... / and I've sat here and took this note / before and tried to remember -
and now I do - remember what / I'm writing as I write it down / I know when I'm going to stop / I know w
More (Sunday Collection No. 11)I want to see you.More (Sunday Collection No. 11)1 year ago in Art Features More Like This
Know your voice.
Recognize you when you
first come 'round the corner.
Sense your scent when I come
into a room you've just left.
Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.
Retro by Wielogrodzianka
Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.
Sunday Collection No. 17 The poem is space and it scars.Sunday Collection No. 171 year ago in Art Features More Like This
I am not like my little blue doll who still suckles the milk of birds.
Memory of your voice in the fatal morning guarded by a sun
rebounding in the eyes of turtles.
The light of sense goes out remembering your voice before this
green celestial mixture, this marriage of sea and sky.
Sunday Collection No. 18 Only now does a steady, lowSunday Collection No. 181 year ago in Art Features More Like This
sputter above us, a lawn mower
cutting a corner of the sky,
grow audible. Look, it’s a biplane!—
some pilot’s long-planned, funny tribute
to wonder’s always-dated orbit
and the itch of afterthought. I swat
my ankle, bitten by a sand gnat: