Sunday, August 18, 2013


Since my poetry novel (yes, it's a poetry novel, not a collection), "The Horror Show" is dropping this week, I was in the mood to write something that resembles a poem and share it with you. It's actually based on a research project I'm working on, and may or may not involve bananas. 

A species of thighs
and elongated sighs

“your finger

are smooth.” 

You must really like

(use both hands 
I insist).

A collection of limbs
buried in neon
(we look in the mirror
to see ourselves, 
that’s why)

Upside down hair threads
glowing teeth, designs
arcane etched in flesh

(nobody wants to do this)
That’s my real name, too

the baseball game is drunk
while men encircle a stage
for the sake of half-bored

and quivering, 
a war of lips

eyes filled with black
heels that can prop 
up Daddy’s favorite chair.