Last ones...

These are some of the final edits for my first poetry collection, Voices. I couldn't include the artwork from my collection on here for obvious reasons. Let me know if you would like to see it and I can send you pictures.

Magnets

{heaven wide}

purple skies

feel magnetic

i lay next to purgatory

a negative

mixed in a blender

of rampant touches

with other {positives}

and unfounded {intimacy}

is this really it?

you {sizzle} to char

what should this be?

thoughts of flight

just take me to the winds of polyamoury

surprise me with a kite

(or maybe a conch shell).

Cigarettes

{}{}{}{}{}{}

{}{}{}{}{}{}

{}{b}{}{}{}

{a}{}{}{}

{}{}{a}{}

{}{}{n}{g}{}

{}{b}{a}{}

{}{n}{g}{g}{}

Bang, bang, bang

On the window glass.

Come save me-

I need cigarettes.

Everyone itches here.

Nobody works here.

We are all broken toys,

And they are

The children

Trying to put us

Back together

With Elmer’s glue.

We

Are still broken.

We

Are still broken.

We

Are still broken.

Hop

On the Merry-Go-Round.

Feed

Us meds, meds, meds,

Tell your

Feedings to be quiet.

Let us

Teach you common-sense.

But

Remember, it’s quiet time

Come

Save me, I need cigarettes

Your paper degrees

Cannot win me sanity.

e.e.

dan

ces

w

ith{n

o}y

e

s.

sug

pl

ums

n

ot

{n

o}y

es

st

ar

leaf.

Untitled

Sunnyside down.

Same taste, but the egg’s no good.

The Wave

Ignorance rises above me with snide remarks.

He was a false promise that I begged to leave,

but now I am cornered sludge; abandon ship!

Find me buried alive in the ocean’s core.

I used to think ignorance was a diseased wave

in a bountiful sea of new discoveries clear of debris.

Only a swimmer with eyes

could duck under the perpetual splash and discover the golden treasures of the abstract. Now, I call myself a dirty liar. A wave is happy and joyous because he can float above the treacherous sea,

away from harm, drenched in movement.

The swimmer, however, follows

her eyes with curiosity,

and is torn by the truthful sharks

and merciless currents. As a wave I would be blissful again, an unaware floater, but I found my eyes once and now they are permanent. Reality is forever embedded in my cracked and mangled spine. Goodbye, lies.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

I drown in truth.

And a poem from Michigan I forgot...

The Passenger’s Regrets

Sea grasp

In

the

panhandled

dark.

Grab that starfish,

That SPITE

of

the

(sand) .

Take HIM

and

you’ll

takeme.

Always

(Always)

a

fo

o

lish

one.

R U N N I N G

in place.

Wi

th

myhands

pointingto

the

ground.