middle of the weak

featured in the poetry forum March 23, 2013  :: 0 comments

Your grass is brown and wet and dead.
I think of the word “moor” –
Othello, Heathcliff,
loose ships make fast to the shore.

My heart drops
in the muck
with a hiss.

I text you
“my reason for reason is gone and i am lost”.

A different girl texts me,
“Spending the evening with my friend who just got out of jail. Be home late.”

My heart is
an antelope.

My heart is
a verb.

My heart is a pocket hole in an infertile boggy area.

I like the second girl.

editors note:

Shed a tear for this sad heart, bogged down in a soggy relationship. I think I like the second girl, too. – mh

i think a vagina

November 28, 2012  :: 0 comments

i think a vagina
is like a wishing well

i think a vagina
is like a confessional in church

i think a vagina
is like that thing
right on the tip of your tongue
you try to reach so hard it hurts

i think a vagina is like
a Rembrandt or a Goya
dark beautiful and wet

i think a vagina is a vagina
is a vagina is a vagina
only because
you haven’t shown me
your vagina yet

lines like branches in the sky

featured in the poetry forum November 28, 2012  :: 0 comments

all i wanted was
marijuana, martinis,
your lips, and champagne
cigarettes, straight teeth,
cold beer, and cocaine
scratch marks and bite marks
and rug burn and slack
all i need is a hole
to bury my intimacies in
and these lines
like branches in the sky
with buds like eyes and hunger
and poems like trees
recycling the carbon dioxide
of our suffering
into the poetry of pain

editors note:

A hole is like a poem; hard to carry, harder to fill. – mh

don’t read this

September 28, 2012  :: 0 comments

with tongues we licked
our names into the water
like the dimples
near the bottom of your back
with nails we scratched
our deaths into the sun
and the softest section
of your inner thigh
by moonwash we wrapped
our lives together
dying to unveil our hidden limbs
singing like a tenpenny choir
flattened by a herd of hammers –
claw hammers on the run

And the word inside gnawed Out

featured in the poetry forum September 28, 2012  :: 0 comments

I sat down to write a poem
to all our most terrible things

One word came out One word alone
Like a cataract in blindness and deluge

and a poet who has nothing
Nothing left but clear and bad intentions

Snuffed out
in the blink of an attention span

And the word inside was

And the word inside gnawed

editors note:

It is what comes out which defiles; write those words on flash paper. – mh

a not too distant object

featured in the poetry forum June 24, 2012  :: 0 comments

slowly she turns
and bends on stage
in the purple light
in the yellow and in the blue
hips pop – corks too
as clocks
or planets swing
shots burn
bells ring
cool smooth marble smiles
conspire to conceal the fire within
like prisoners and ovens burn
making noooo connections in the dark
drawn to her – my light – my one
while I pretend to look away
zippers blush
and cosmos churn

poets are strippers of the heart
naked on the page
the stage
the line
the beat

and the spaces in between

editors note:

And, oh, the things poets yearn to do between those lines… *pop* – mh