ePoetry

Granny

She saves copper pennies in mason jars
and works the bills into her mattress (works the madness!)
you know
you just can’t trust the banks.

Her padlocked shed bulges
with boy-ar-dee ravioli
tuna, spam, beans.
You must admit

the closer she gets
to tin & glass
filled promise
the quieter she is.

You’ve seen her
face fluttering sideways
spin the cans ‘round
fumbling

with the sterling shine.
Stow, not weep!
Her pure omissions
signify.

Mid Afternoon Melancholy

Envy has a crisp, emerald radiance
the points of green stars

stuck in my throat.
Nothing is seamless.

All my prayers
are jagged little losses.

It’s a solitary situation
butterflies in my eyes

breached
and flapping

Leaving (Punked)

Your attitude, swagger
quells the opposition
you think that fat and real.

Your hand slides,
sticky whispers
brush my thigh.

I’ve legs of cold steel

Ice tainted rain/and
my feet
are luminous

a kind of wanderlust
gray paint
asphalt dreams, by and by

Teenagers

Her ear is studded
and stretched. Vanilla motifs

ripple near a vainglorious
storied elegy. Don't chu remember?

Hot air, wayward and explicit
warms threadbare shoulders.

She wrote: young doves with bound feathers
are split not sacrificed at the altar.

Our blood runs blue
swollen breezes mere consequence.