cleveland dream widow whore
by Michael Workman
I've from sound cut paper maked
Place of names on dead mapshapes
And the swallows on them, in other places, near me and beside me, bee-stung to pulps;
Fat warmths with dirt under them direct; we fucked that same hour.
I couldn’t talk all your birds in a decent way,
And, with a deep breath,
I made food of That Whole Day.
You will recall the resonance of woad,
The blue sheen of it tickling the lights’ responses;
our arms leather heartskins. You will recall.
And when your little feet ruin my perfect conceptions
Of drapery,
And our fingerpainted leaves are scattered like anthrax spores,
I dare you to die laughing for a second time with not my sex
To keep our moist room depressing.
From cut paper never it was you,
But all the sounds and guts and
Fish named it to you,
Kept you like an odd piece of wood,
Distilled your cheer like an eyeball,
Gave you credit cards,
Walked your dreams of pets,
Made you small,
Made you small,
Made you very small
And put your legs soggy.
You are first nor last a murdered widow in our collective giddy sleep.
Poems by - Janie Hubbell & Amanda Oaks
Poems by - Janie Hubbell & Amanda Oaks
Poems by - Rae Pater, Riley Black & Wayne Denio
Poems by - Michael Workman & Wayne Denio
eZine review by - Mellie
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Mesmerized
by Wayne Denio
Bright, the warmth,
you knew I’d stare.
Captured by residue
of your past.
Mesmerized
by your lasting presence,
I’ve looked too long.
I can’t move now
do I know you?
It’s OK, I know -
we are a part of all
we touch.
I just
didn’t realize
life lasted so long.
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