Poetry

Entrance

by on Jun 2, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

We were looking for mold, but found the door. I didn’t want to open it. You didn’t want to open it, so it opened itself for us. When I looked in I saw blue-green soft, organ-like shapes growing from the walls, a footpath that curved into darkness. The room breathed, gill-like and I swore a thousand bluish eyes shifted and focused. When you looked in, you wouldn’t tell me what you saw. I tried to insist you saw the blue-green organs, the path, monsters, death—what mattered. You held my foot as I said, I’m going in. I’ve been there. I can come back. You said, We don’t have to decide this now. I got on my hands and knees to wiggle through the wooden beams that held up the...

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Peach Baby

by on Jun 2, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

The night I ate that peach was thick with summer rainstorm. If anyone was out in the street under my window they had cat-feet and no breath. The peach was the only prize fruit in a basket of organic castoffs— all weedy with stems and bug-bit skins, leaves covering their prettiest sides. I snuck it from the kitchen, and half-drank its sweetness down. The bared pit, like a skeletal beech-leaf, gleamed brown as a nut, not a bed of arsenic. I cleaned it off in the bathroom sink, with a fresh toothbrush. Put it on a saucer on my desk, under the windowsill, where it sat for some time. I oiled it, sometimes, when it grew dry. As I wrestled with college papers, I taught it to...

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Interview

by on Jun 2, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

In the early days when you first went into space, aboard a space station, you spent time with trained astronauts. How did their company impact on your initial sojourn beyond the Earth? ~~~||~  |~~ ~|| While on the space station you helped to facilitate an experiment in which you attempted to construct a web in zero gravity. Your first attempts were fairly dismal. Did this in any way diminish your sense of identity as a house spider? ||~ Eventually you not only succeeded but developed a new web design suited to gravity-free environments. As a result we realised that house spiders cope far better with zero gravity than humans. Was this when you began to realise your...

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The Automaton to Her Engineer

by on May 5, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

My gears run smooth no more. They bite into each other like a crone’s teeth bite the apple’s flesh, like fingers of a dead man bite the living air. Soon my gears will be stuck, metal to metal and no room left for the winding, no key that could move these parts, no hammer to shake them, no chain to tear these bolts, just the furnace bleeding like rust. I leak, too. Oil to keep me moving, the lubricant-golemspell that tickles my throat: it moves away from within me like amniotic breath and all my movement goes with it, flees the absence of hydraulic pressure. There is air in my belly and in the tubes that are my chest, and there should be no air; I have no breath. The air...

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Sidereal

by on May 5, 2015 in Poetry | 2 comments

She stands watch. Ungloved trigger hand clutching the stock of her gun, she notes the sky isn’t sable, but blue and the night air smells of ozone and wet dirt. He kneels in a puddle of crimson light, the click and tap of his precision tools a-rhythmic and bright. Night-repairs warrant a practiced force of two. Operator and Specialist, machinist and soldier. The optimal team. Pylons loom for kilometers, awaiting his quick hands to coax their circuits to life. She glances at him, comprehends him with aching clarity— how he moves with sureness, muscle a machinery hitched to gears of bone. The curve of his back, set of his shoulders. Armoring over a heart at home in its...

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If I Only Had A…

by on May 5, 2015 in Poetry | 6 comments

Everything we were looking for Was right there with us all along, In a tidy gingham package. I’m the one who figured it out, of course. Couldn’t stop laughing, for a long time, when it hit me. My laughter always disturbs people— Echoes oddly through my hollow metal chest. She asked if I was okay. Concerned. She always had so much heart. Plenty in the brains department too. We had to get a bit more metaphorical with the courage. Finally the lion was satisfied with her spine— I doubt he’s really any more courageous, But with a necklace of bones Twined through his bloody mane, Nobody’s going to challenge him and find out. The mutt wouldn’t leave what was left of her. He...

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