Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, March 3, 2008

snippets of half-remembered poetry from long ago

the banana is on the tip of my tongue
the pineapples on the back
the ice, the ice is everywhere
up and down my neck

...

for truly truth is true even when it's untrue
and untruth is untrue even when it's true

...

i had a nightmare of my hand
a daemon shoved it
past the lips of my cold blender
i watched it grind

blood and sinew splattered spinning
gore like peaches, nectarines
bone was almond in her roar
blender, blender, longed for more

...

lost poems, lost notebooks, all like bits of dreams falling up in the tip of the cappuccino foam. a taste, a taste on the tip of my tongue, and then gone.

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