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DEAR READER

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Peter Solarz
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@kerrycoxpoetry
Reinventing Wheels
like a newborn
with cries still wet
on my lips
my tongue reached
for tastes
I couldn't imagine
crawling towards
a hand up
a wobbly way
to learn the dance
of living
one step
at a time
like infant dreams
I make no sense
to myself
growing older
in all these
childish ways
a tantrum of wants
pounding the floor
come give my
adolescent eyes
that burned down
look
that crooked trees
point to
If you look
hard enough
yet this is so much
to swallow
so little
to chew
the wisdom teeth
tell each other
secrets
smeared on the tongue
I go gray and still
as fog
some nights
ageless with hands
forever
bouncing through
time
again and again
no sand in the
hourglass
left to turn
over
I kiss this
reasoning, forgive
bad blood
finally break even
ripened for the season
of sad seeds
slipping free
of 100 years of dark
to wear a damp new
disguise
circling vines spelling
the quiet lies
photosynthesized
back into sunlight
the same way we
might find new ways
to be.
Succumb
In the breath
of your hand
on my neck
I learned a new language
that north-facing plants know
but don't ever tell us
a sordid, silent reverie
a mirage in the
thirstiest desert's dance
when suddenly set free
these streaks of cheek-lit
answers
announcing each
new cleaving
your endings so uneven
the pulse in places
beating
drum-like down the veins
blooming into Eden
after 40 days of rain
In the breath
of your hand
on my neck
I translated new whispers
into old ways of sating
tongues that still flicker
as sudden as thunder
on the horizon
lighting our skin
crackling sparks
singeing these skylines
these minute matched-up rhythms
clapping for
what's happening
your fingers find each opening
sliding sinfully inside
lips that lose each other
tongues that keep us tied
in the breath
of your hand
on my neck
I sung a well-worn hymn
not holy except
for the way my voice
starts to flutter and ebb,
a murmured undulation
a tidal dream
left in this bed
a violent gesture
of learning love
from lonely lessons
made soft from lungs
listening
to their own humble
hush
these bodies of water
we drink from
filling each other endlessly
fulfilling each new prophecy
our palms are known
to tell
your unraveling so heavenly
I rise to every swell then
fade into the falling
where the last fence in me
fell.
Have we reached that river
that ferrymen dream of?
Did you bring your coins
to pay our way
through these dark
and damning waters
Thick with feathers, souls,
almost-ghosts
who wander the halls
of lusting, lonely
cry out into something
blacker than night
We'll speak the words
for each other
A reckoning of flesh and
new kinds of messes
The fingers of time
ripe on the wrists
Pinning each sin
to a crumbling hymn
Humming through the space
between stars
We stay mad, drunk
We split ourselves wide open
Straight down the breastbone
No rest, no less home
Can this be called an ending
when I feel so full of starting over?
If psyches can twin their erotic spin
Stirring up ghosts in costumes of skin
Then we can cross this chasm again
On bridges we build without knowing
where we're going
Escape plan buried within.
nearing never
with that stray dog look in your eye and belly full of stones, I watched
you limp sorely towards some imagined little red devouring clipped at the cleft and withered as wings, the
wind carried our story to places we’d never been or would dream of going now, bloodied at the heel and full of wormwood, you doubt the very ships that carried you womblike, into a new world all mapped into the skin and scales...
soft like the new year, i dreamt it again, laid out like snow across the fields but this time, ash, this time burning filaments of long-fought fissures, in a landscape unmade
with that bulge in your belly your obvious hunger, your lapping at the corners of your unstudied mouth drawn into life and smudged real and awake everyone knows what you came for, how you’ll die, what words you’ll want to say when words won’t come irrelevant as mile markers and permanent addresses I give credence to the last crooked toothed science, i give credence to rubbed raw ring fingers late night lanterns lisping our lullabies, brash and broken, the way we loved to sing, with that all knowing look in your eye, you travel concave abstract marble sculpture warmed like food, with your bare hands, straying to
the edges, the creases, the inner secret you need, that wild animal
look in your eyes tongue dangling to
taste that terrible truth that only the miracle of marble
and the stones in your belly
know.
Surrender
i’ve been taught your name all my life from wind and witches
you were a calling written in marrow dna’ing my fingerprints into whorls spinning constellations of abyss stared into and out of
i’ve been taught your dance, elegant aware, your every attention met with skin and sorrow, and yet i laugh girlish and blushing
now breath is a currency, here in this jungle, your hands make ladders tell me where to step, with which foot first, and i am grateful
for your compass heart, your old pair of virtues, your potential to possess my aura, pin down my temple and pray all night
i’ve been taught your game, tricked and spelled and bound into believing a time or two before you, came up empty-handed and worse
clean, cleaned out, a hollow shipwreck of girlness patched and perched like november, waiting to steal in close in the dark, say thank you
i hold your arms that hold my pulse, we have been taught how to insist and coexist for too long this will be my whispered anomaly giving up in order to win
going hungry for fullness, a fast of fastidious flush, flirting with feather bed boredom until both rock free from their hinges, the hunger and the harlot
but here where i am gullivered into your heart, some new sense sneaks in and i have been taught to surrender in all the right ways.
celebrating sanitized lives, we come tripping
down aisles of regret, holed up in
homelessness and alonelessness.
killed out like last night's fireplace, your
old shoes still haunt me
from their closet.
then devoured by the second hand, roughed
up by the doorbell, cajoled by the carkeys
into staying home again.
the ignition doesn't care either way, bled
from the same machine sauce slicking up
the gears in your mouth.
call me queen again, come let me
wash you clean, again...
it'll be fall soon enough, it'll all come undone
again
the leaves from the trees
the birds from the bees
and always
lastly
you
from
me...
venice
every time i see you, i think of venice
all that water splashing up the sides of buildings, the romance of gondoliers and bridges and my mind's limitless edges torn free like loose pages of a manuscript i could never seem to write down
every time i see you morning seems dull again nights alive with wanting and warning
if this is a catapult and i am ammunition who will reload and what with?
carnal carnage, flooded acres, animals two by two taming each other
if this was Eden, if this was a desert if this was a graveyard, if this was an estate sale, who would be left to draw the maps we'd need
to navigate buried constellations leave coins under pillows for baby teeth plucked from mouths by overzealous mothers who don't know how to swim
every time i see you, i remember little things i loved when i was little dandelions, dresser drawers, dynamite dredging streams for gold my mother told me was fool's, worthless, i held on anyway knowing water has a way of mixing magic into its molecules every time I see you i've learned to look away
my skin is saying something
.
selling something, stuttering
like a windmill
the grass is answering, the
six feet under smell is thundering
my blood is fumbling again
come quick, there's a shotgun pointed at my chin
.
come quick then
leave again
.
i'm sick
.
there's something in the air, in the
water, in the way you kneel, way you
stare, the sticky singing way you
seem to be everywhere
.
while i leave like lava slow and devastating
barely moving, melting, soothing
hardening to icy air-filled stone
a new home
.
my heart is sleeptalking
the telephone wires won't stop
gawking, the wind still breathes
like a caught fish flopping
blue as a girl without air
.
i got angel etched inside my eyelids
in case there's something holier
than your atoms becoming mine
than a pinprick learning ballet
someday
.
this dance, this circus act
of bone and muscle all falling in
time, the same direction, sultry
sublime, collection of heartbeat
sinew, tentacled vines
..
....
inferior
i'm trying to
remember, Eleanor
.
slumped in the shower
everywhere he touched me
still stinging in my veins.
mama we weren't against the world, i was making friends, the wolves were at your heels
-
bright lights lit your face when the police came more times than i know numbers for.
-
where the trees blew, on our house you feared but only close enough to thunder my dreams and
-
shred the precious papers that hid our names and lists of sins. you think that heaven will
-
open your mouth on the best kind of kiss, that reason is rushing through us every moment
-
as you rage against your old carpet, your viking fists, your tiny lungs pretending to breathe
-
come clang a new dream awake, a dna test that takes time to unravel, you breathing hard
-
while i slept in ice, in blood, in strangers' houses, in casts and cells and anguish and australia
-
and places you cannot imagine, although you put me there. held me there with the weight
-
of all your missing sentences, your dead chickens in the hen house, your solitude and broken
-
promises cracking like bone, breaking like something sadder than home
-
-
awake now waiting the bite, the web the hard walked heels bloody with fight
-
no blame for the scenes painted on screens old worms weaving silk for coffins and queens
-
you said it was enough, to be drenched and drowned and wrapped in love
-
the turpid and hazardous versions of stuff clamped like old medicine under these tongues
-
from foreign and fertile and flamboyant isles the winter will find you, the hunters will climb
-
these were saints, the lines in my fingers, the way that pressing them into you made me feel small
-
breathing her chest to a flutter, winding the wool from prayer to poem, to a song that she won't stop
-
singing, lonely, she calls it...another word she's making up, it means goodbye and help
-
and she says it breathing in and out, she says it in whole gulps of nighttimes, the nightmares
-
in stitches, in stripping away, in skin that still
remembers poor visions, splinters, every
-
slight sting, a better boxer, a wordless version of holy forgiveness stuck in a cellar smoldering slow.
in some midsummer mash up of martyred munchkins and bruised up
buttercups, i've loved up the hush up money, given up
white flags for fresh-combed honey, you
crunch me between your teeth
and make it sound yummy
now we pretend to
laugh at
something
not funny.
.
in some corner store quick stop where stick up kids
clip clop over bridges where trolls have ceased
causing gridlock, your mother still wonders
why you never stop at the pitstop
breaking down by the side of
these roads, crumbling like
quantums, underhanded
and wanton.
.
why are we bodied, full or less than?
culminated creations of a dream out
of bethleham or bored branded
blending of particles and
wave, sundered and rendered
in coffin and cage?
an empty promise
of a sacred
age?
.
you come distant, televised between
my thighs, we wrestle indecision and
discard these sighs, no matter how many
times that we've tried, the end still gives
away the years choked inside. who comes
to steal all the villains best lines when the
piper has played away the children
of concubines?
.
in the final act six pack mortar attack
i've been waiting to pry the invisible eyes
from my camel's back, now i'm old enough
to understand, to say the words and take
them back. the touch tone tattle, the
swollen sac. spiders weave the words
we read when god isn't
talking
back.
you aren't enough without me, all barnacle and blood
.
come chin up to the hearts you've left vacant, the empty chambers and behives where you didn't behave, didn't dig a deep enough grave to keep me dead
.
you said.
.
but i prayed old woman's words though young enough to be wet with womb, i was witching you out of this world faster than you could unravel the umbilical way you clung to me, too hungry for majesty, too brittle for my bones to decipher. what old
.
magic must make these kind of claws retract? oh come closer, bring
full moon towns and bags full of bugle songs for the soldiers
we couldn't become, the battles we couldn't fight, martyr all the way through. you told me verse could uncurse my skin, but you said it in deep charcoal dust, in whispered secrets and tin can phone calls
as if being human made us more than the machines we'd learned to become, to live among to herd and sometimes follow, all children after all. come like a map will beckon, i have sirens waiting to lull you into
a prison where teeth are bars and a tongue tastes
times when
those that dared
trespass were never heard from again.
6-30-14
Kerry Cox hides great reservoirs of something unexpected behind her demure appearance; don’t let the soft-spoken lullaby fool you—she’s a firecracker! Bang! Enjoy! Bang bang bang!
Feature - Kerry Cox
Please send any corrections to the spelling of names to [email protected]
Directed: DobbieReeseNorris
Produced: Boris D. Schleinkofer
Hey Poets! Want to hear yourself on the podcast? Your chances will be greatly improved if you will but STEP TO THE MIC—it’s there for you, it is indeed your friend.
For a complete archive of all podcast episodes, visit podcast.poetrynight.org. Comments, criticisms and trolls to [email protected] Podcast © 2014 poetrynight
All poems © Kerry Cox
Here's the podcast from my set at poetrynight last week! :)