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Literature Text
My New Orleans muse smiles;
Bourbon Street quick-grin.
Mona Lisa Lolita; she splashes
through the stained-glass
of oil-slick puddles
wearing combat boots dark
as a Halloween new moon.
Her machine-gun lips are
half-drawn around dusk.
Cherry-red smile,
shimmering green jade eyes.
She can see through the clouds
if she casts them herself.
Dragon mouth against paper;
the serenade of the skeleton.
She burns stripped phalanges,
swears she's sucking down
Christmas.
Red wool, a bonfire;
she breathes all the warmth
she has never known.
Lungs of the phoenix,
blistering black;
breath full of gray ash.
One day she will wake hacking,
spitting poison spiders.
Tonight she inhales summer;
mouthful of fireflies.
She tilts her head back,
cat eyes triumphant.
She'll never be a constellation,
but she's stolen Orion's left foot.
Bourbon Street quick-grin.
Mona Lisa Lolita; she splashes
through the stained-glass
of oil-slick puddles
wearing combat boots dark
as a Halloween new moon.
Her machine-gun lips are
half-drawn around dusk.
Cherry-red smile,
shimmering green jade eyes.
She can see through the clouds
if she casts them herself.
Dragon mouth against paper;
the serenade of the skeleton.
She burns stripped phalanges,
swears she's sucking down
Christmas.
Red wool, a bonfire;
she breathes all the warmth
she has never known.
Lungs of the phoenix,
blistering black;
breath full of gray ash.
One day she will wake hacking,
spitting poison spiders.
Tonight she inhales summer;
mouthful of fireflies.
She tilts her head back,
cat eyes triumphant.
She'll never be a constellation,
but she's stolen Orion's left foot.
Literature
Winterbleeder
Curled around alpine legs and caught
within hollows and inclines of pale skin,
she carries her endless winter always.
It settles upon frosted shoulders and
caps heavy-lidded eyes, clinging close to
the darkness of each snow-flecked breath;
lingering above cracked lips and the
remnants of a long forgotten warmth.
But darling, don't we deserve each other?
(She'd been Spring's child before Winter's whispers.)
Literature
Reddist
Before you, there were women
with full breasts,
breasts with perk tips and beneath them:
hips wide as my hand spread,
but never love.
Athenas before you,
my eyes only followed the apples;
and then, suddenly:
A wild brook unleashed
and I never knew I was a basin
meant to be filled.
A woman sewn
from the smile of Coyote,
from the same hands that bent time
and created life for a laugh-
Apples became
the sweetest fruit; be my reddist-
I will love you madder
than a hatter and brasher than a miner.
Wilder for a gypsy.
Literature
stonemaze
sometimes, I pretend
our home is tinnitus
I scrape pine needles
into a horizontal bowl.
twisted scenery
settling in like snow
inside my finger
bones, stirring
up sparks. he
may be the last
explosive, a
fire fight that bites
through my palms;
may be the last
crackling
monolith to collect
spacedust on
his loneliness.
I should be left alon
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My muse is a smoker.
Comments68
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Overall
Vision Originality Technique ImpactI have to say, I do love your work. I can tell you take your time and always try your best and that is a very good thing to do. This poem made me smile and understand where you were coming form. You did a great job at setting it up and making it flow every well. I love to read work from people that know what they are doing and know they can have fun with there work. I hope to keep reading all of what you have done. I have to say, never give up, never give in, in everything you really believe in.