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Posts Tagged ‘hate’

I Hate Moths

What about Dallas makes people shoot people
and why don’t I care?
It started here. With bombings – homemade
coming soon to Etsy –
Some ran for fun, others ran for their lives.
The five o’clock news features
the hunt for the other –
justifiably vilified and disliked on Facebook.
That was outrage.
Now my sausages thump against my laptop.
Sausages
stuffed with a mix of condescension and exhaustion.
Seasoned with sarcasm
(the death of communication)
and yet, ash in the mouth that tastes like sugar.
What is it for? I’m sure some poet
is fossilized at Pompeii, wrapping bloated
meet sacks around a chisel
scrapping out warnings. Global warming has
never been so real. Yet, he is dead.
We are dead. You are dead.
Outside, a gypsy moth invasion
covers the northeast in abhorrent life
and I write my least favorite poem.
I hate this poem.
I hate moths.

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Who Are You Convincing?

The hesitation in your voice
means you are pulling
from the pile
of countless ways
to say I love you
and it might be a while
because you don’t like lying
about what you feel
but don’t mind implying
enough to make my hope
dumbfound me.
You think you have spared me
or fooled me,
because of my silence.
Late, after you walk
away, I will finally
have the best response.
So whatever it is worth,
better late than never,
my comeback is clear,
I am here. I am here.
So if you don’t want
to hurt me,
then leave.

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The two of them, snakes
as thick and muscular as
a grown man’s leg
are either fighting to their deaths
or mating. They appear to be
either beasts or
swans as their bellies
slash the ground.

I see my skin in their skin.
Tiny scales that writhe
with an armada of 1000 war ships
underneath the surface
and in the shimmering of
there scales an entire
opera dedicated to
their coiled helix dance.
One the devil, both the devil,
it made little difference to them.
To sell your soul to him
to buy her soul
to smuggle her away
by the command of God
or by ancient wisdom.

To seduce, to entice,
to be the snake
as I lick my lips
and demand you show
me the shores
of another world
where the incoming waves
are like lines on a bathtub.
I pluck away the one on top,
the aggressor, and in my family’s garden
I watched the other flee. In my hand is
the Satan or the snake, the tempter
or a single strand of medusa’s hair.
I want it to offer me escape
an escape to the world,
either with demonic magic
or human venom.

Instead I let it chase its lover
and turn to my freckled vellum.
On its smooth surface is recorded
this same story too many times.

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