Poetry

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” – Carl Sandburg

Apple Tree black and white

Everything I say is a lie

Poetry / By

All of this a lie, because you can’t remember the apple tree,
so it was never there, and I was never there, and
and I am just like my father, a liar who remembers things
that never happened, never were, in those spans of years

Diamond matches

De Terre

Poetry / By

The birds (of paradise) are chittering
which seems insufficient
for a poem, because it does not match
the intensity—or is it pain?—

Holy Card

U.I.O.G.D.

Poetry / By

This week I learned that every other year the Holy Ghost plants a baby seed in a married mom’s tummy. Nine months later a slit opens up underneath across the bottom and the baby slides out.

Sarah Wetzel

My Avarice is

Poetry / By

for your cadaverous jaw and thin lips, for your meticulous fingers lighting cigarette after cigarette, for your body bone sleek and for speed

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