Category: poetry

The flames rise, take their bows behind the drapes.We throw them paper hopes — polite, confetti-thin. Sadness chews politely, no need to hurry;happiness is filling out an application form. Wood becomes coal, coal updates its résumé,ash sends holiday postcards to the future. Expectations show up in party hats and maps,joy slips out for a smoke … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Out of Sight, Out of Mind?, v.4 – ironical

The flames rise and begin to danceon fresh kindling—thin, obedient tongues. Sadness eats the space happiness left;thoughts hold the matches. From wood to coal, from coal to ash—the slow machinery of the night. Expectations burn like paper money,joy folded and scorched into denial. Flames leap into open air, drink the wind;they take the smell of … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Out of Sight, Out of Mind?, v.2

I love my baby — I love her like a lamp burns late,but she don't light for me. We sit and stare for hours; the radio plays low,her coffee cools in the saucer, untouched.We walk miles past houses with their porch lights on,her hand in mine — a cool, polite weight. She speaks of summers … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “I Love my Baby, My Baby Don’t Love Me… R. Johnson”, v.3 (blues feel)

We can sit and stare at each other for hoursand have nothing to say. We can walk, hand in hand, for miles,but she won't make love to me. We can tell each other of feelings of love —hers are lodged in the past;mine live in the present and the future. We can be together,and I … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “I Love my Baby, My Baby Don’t Love Me… R. Johnson”, v.2

Rain. A lamppost. White canvas shoes, damp. Genesis — a thin, useless hymn in my ears. People pass like practiced ghosts. She says she cannot love me. I fold that sentence into my palm; it is cold. The street exhales and erases itself. I learn the end too late.

Rain on the lamppost.White canvas shoes, damp. Genesis in my ear—noise that keeps me still. People pass.She says she can’t love me.Maybe.Why don’t I know?

Rain slices past the lamppost at nightand chills the toes of my white canvas shoes. Genesis moans from the earphones—an origin-song that only shows me my silence. Faces drift past—their small lamps bobbing toward nothing— She says she cannot love me.Perhaps I am already alone. Why was I never warned?

Rain runs past the lamppost at nightand lands, apologetic, on my white canvas shoes. Genesis hums in my earphones—a low machine-thrum that vibrates my skulland does nothing for my mood. People pass me by, one after another,on their busy errands to nowhere that matters. She says she still can’t love me.Maybe she’s lying.Maybe life will … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Don’t Fall in Love, v.2