Older/Younger

This poem is a contrapuntal, so you can read the first stanza then the second stanza (which makes it a palindrome as well) or you can read straight across the lines from top to bottom. Another experiment...enjoy.

 

Older/Younger

I could not see,                                                     All the other shit
Even though you said it was                                 I could not believe
In plain sight                                                         The bible, the poison ivy itching on my leg
Sitting in the backseat, with the moon                 Science was
not giving me enough.When we were young       Not a state of mind, but the creator of the world.
Looking through binoculars, imagination was.     Looking through binoculars, Imagination was
Not a state of mind but the creator of the world.   Not giving me enough, when we were young.
Science was                                                          Sitting in the backseat. The moon,
The bible, the poison ivy itching on my leg            In plain sight
I could not believe                                                  Even though you said it was
All the other shit                                                      I could not see

                                   

                                         The things that scared me most.

Ghosts

Ghost

I saw a ghost

the day that they took
you to stay in the
woods for three months
and you would have dreams of monsters and lawyers
and rolled up dollar bills.
The ghosts
of your sleep
on the hard ground.
The ground was harder than you.
It broke you.
You found God on the ground.
You would sit on it
with your new friends
and tell ghost stories.

Flood

This one is kind of a weird version of a sonnet, istead of a rhyme scheme, I used antonym pairs it turned out a little weird but here it is:

 

Flood

 We sit criss-crossed on the finally dry

ground sifting through piled shoe boxes full
of warped photographs. My shirt is soaked
from your warm tears. My pockets are empty.
 
You are squinting at a slide, trying hard
to make out the chicken scratch numbers
smeared across the back. Your voice is so soft
I have to read your lips to know your words.

This is the room where I used to sleep

It’s become your closet without a light
We sit in it now, trying to stay awake
frantic hands reach at memories in the dark

You took them so that you would remember

Now the water will help you to forget.

Different

Different

In high school I

knew girls who cut
themselves for a release.
It was routine,
Cut your
wrists. Brush your
teeth. Go to
bed.
I do not
know any boys
who have cut themselves
to release anything
except enough blood.

death

death
after Jesus by Brand New

We stand on a corner where
all the cars drive too fast. And you’ve
got a bottle of whiskey. You take a pull and spit it out. Screaming “This tastes like
wood.” I laugh as i take a drag
and lean against one of those telephone poles that is covered in
nails from posters that the wind has ripped off and crucified on to car windshields

We sit at the corner all night. Fighting off the

sleep so that we might see an accident. A death if we’re lucky.
Inside we know it’s wrong. As we sit with fingers crossed. The sounds
of sirens echoing in our minds. We just want to know death.
This way we are prepared. So we will know when to unplug the
machine.

Back

Back

 

From the backseat of a ‘91 Carolla

I told you “No.”
Hoping that you or the car
would explode. But you just turned your eyes
to your shoes. Which meant
your trips down south must have been
worth it. Where you didn’t shower
for three months and you slept in tents
on the cold, hard ground. The ground
will break you. You can find God on that
ground and you did.
You came back with a dry
mouth and a clear throat.
A coin and a prayer in your
wallet. I was surprised to see
your head shaved when we
picked you up. You hiding
behind a long sleeve shirt
in hot July. As if we could forget.
When you got in the car you
put on that song and I
told you “No”
But you did not explode.