jessica mcqueenMore Like This
Jessica McQueen survives sixteen against all odds.
Two to one, she should have been
by the time she entered high school.
lowered in to the ground with the leaves
falling from trees that can smell
the nuclear winter coming.
The world staked its claim
on Jessica McQueen the instant she turned sixteen,
her blood flooded full-fledged
NatalieAliciaMore Like This
the, airplanes are bright tonight.
up there in the, palpable height above our
comfy clutter where somewhere,
a long-legged girl perched on a sidewalk crack
Virgin braves the New YearMore Like This
Rooting around in mental underbrush,
new age Mary, unannunciated
celebrates a New Year with a forbidden cigarette,
considering her self something like
whose name simply suggests
images, of an Italy she's never seen -
warm and wet in nostrils,
dark smells and crumbling dusks;
whose verse recalls
the coppery taste of youth -
fresh on scraped palms,
bright flush streaking pavement,
flowing from summer suckerpunch nosebleeds,
plunging up to elbows in adoration
of ancient sandbox converstation whisper
A Not-Love PoemMore Like This
[What the stars tossed, salt-casual, onto the not-black of the not-night suggest could be love, but I can't read them.]
This is not a love poem,
not-love, a not-love poem.
Falling waist deep into February
stomping the signatures of lost years
in footprints on the pristine present-
this, not-night has become electric
with memories smashing through
the thin ice of teenage alchemy,
charged, with the possibility of
or even a complete skeleton
of our separate childhoods
we, are the miners of nostalgia, now.
But in this not-night,
with the subtle city lights,