I write fiction only nowadays, but I used to write poetry in high school and college. Most of it is not fit for human consumption, but there are some pieces I still like. I'd love to hear what people who don't know me think about them, since the crits I got back when I wrote them were mostly "I don't understand these!" I don't think they're that opaque but I'd love to hear others' opinions. They all were written in 2001 or so.
A Ghost
You always look surprised when we collide
head-on, our gazes locking for that shattered instant
before my eyes -- mere flesh -- must look away,
smouldering from your divinity.
When we are paralell, it is my turn
to look surprised. You touch me
on the shoulder:
pale flesh stiffens over bones
as hot as coals.
I tear the stream of music from my ears
listening to you, each word a love
letter that will never see
the hands of its intended.
You praise my art; I blush and flatter yours.
We talk about the weather, your flat tire,
the ups and downs of quitting cigarettes.
You track my downcast eyes and say goodbye.
We walk back to our dorm rooms by ourselves:
my feet borne up by tides of quarter notes,
your ashen overcoat stirred by the wind.
Burning Paper
A card arrives in creamy envelope;
a date and time monstrosity, the code
of simple cursive, black against the pale,
informing me that if I have grown sick
of being happy or of having peace,
your mom and dad would like to see me present
at this, the joining of pure gold to chrome.
This paper screams at you, recalling this:
that you have sent this card perhaps to hundreds
the clean black print adorning just the front
and inside, yards of cotton rag stand empty
begging sketches, cursing at their fate
thinking longingly of lining trash cans
wanting no part in your sorry farce.
In lieu of flowers, I will send you this:
some meager words to clothe a fallen beauty
her sun hair, cherry lips, her shining smile
This girl I wrapped in cerements and mourned
and even if you think she's still alive
to walk a prisoner's aisle on winter Sunday
I assure you that your choice has killed her.
Beloved -- For M
you are damp plastic mist, tingling
my fingers like mouthwash,
salting secret places
with ice,
speaking words of love
spread thick with the yellow of age.
Like light through beveled
glass, you flicker
in eye-corners--
no time to blink.
an instant loses you
to those not me--
beloved forever,
silver handprint pasted
to my soul.
let’s lie here, love
and laugh at ones who’d say
you’re false.
we know the truth --
invisible and silent...