Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Dumb doorknob



I never really think about doorknobs

Until they fall off—

A culprit in causing

Claustrophobic catastrophe.

This one is transparent.

The palm I had read

Last month is magnified,

Morphed, like it’s under sea.


This is a doorknob,

Failed.

Is it ashamed?

Maybe it never even wanted

To be a doorknob.

Did it dream of being

A beer bottle,

Scotch tape,

A butter knife,

Socks,

A stapler,

My ingrown toenail?


It’s been days now.

The branches sway

And scratch my window.

The fan blows

And my laundry smells.

The lamp flickers.

And the doorknob lies

On top a metro card

That ironically reads,

“Optimism.”

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

I cast shadows and blame the trees

I can't help

but to scrutinize

the way you cool hot food,

only after

it’s in your mouth.


I don’t use the word love

unless it’s an active verb;

either way it can change

the rhythm of my blood.


The sun tells fables about the moon.

Mornings are addicting

and the day is prozac

in the form of chaos.

Nights are scratches

we discover

after they’re healed;

a map of long-forgotten mistakes.


I’m an overflowing ashtray and

you’re in a perpetual state of quitting.


I hang out between people’s thoughts.


I defeat those I love with soft words.


Love is like hearing a friend

say he saw a shooting star

for the very first time.

I used to always miss it, catching

a glimpse

the second it fades.

Monday, September 21, 2009

From Freshmen Year

My roommate fell in love a gay guy

All starry-eyed, she giggles.

Pigtails and cigarettes.

With raunch and warming oils

he parades around, vulgarly awkward.

They share eyeliner and secrets

like best friends—

with knives to each other’s backs.

Confusion lies silently in bed with them

while he tells her about his blowjobs

from guys in skin-tight jeans.



To Cavities

A poem in the style of Kenneth Koch's Addresses

You made your way through my mouth,
happily befriending

chocolate, soda pop, and fruit roll-ups.

Marking your territory—

trenches in my baby teeth.
My mother stood
behind me with a toothbrush.

General of the army—

fighting a war against you.
Fluoride, whitening, tartar control—

she wanted them all,

you resisted each!

I cried when you were found.

Novocain shots
brought tears
and made my feet jump

to attention.
You won the battle

when I lost the rotten tooth

to the earnest dentist.

You learned to love
the silver lining
and
I learned to brush my teeth.

Monday, September 14, 2009

from an old disk

Remember that poem I posted that was just titles of other poems? Well, I found a disk of old works of mine and found the poem, "Flowers in Trashcans" that had been one of the lost. Pretty exciting for me.

Flowers in trashcans


This can’t be growing up.

Posture will always be in rebellion with stature,

permanent markers keep score

on doorframes.

It’s no longer Disneyland

or cotton candy.

It’s no longer kool-aid

or dollhouses.

Life is an artificial sweetener.

Grown-up Barbies

with lanky legs that blossom into secrets—

can’t be kept

can’t be vindicated

can’t be softened by the truth,

no matter how much

strawberry shortcake lip gloss

she licks off her teeth.

Skinned knees in short skirts.

She sleeps with the prince

on a bed without sheets

and wakes to find her glass slipper

flushed down the toilet.