May 26, 2012

"Your eyes are so green - one of your parents must be part traffic light."

Jeffrey McDaniel

May 26, 2012
The Archipelago of Kisses

We live in a modern society.  Husbands and wives don’t
grow on trees, like in the old days.  So where
does one find love?  When you’re sixteen it’s easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses.  There’s the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss.  The peck.
The sympathy kiss.  The backseat smooch.  The we
shouldn’t be doing this kiss.  The but your lips
taste so good kiss.  The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you’d quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss.  The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss.  As you get
older, kisses become scarce.  You’ll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out.  If you
were younger, you’d pull over, slide open the mouth’s
red door just to see how it fits.  Oh where
does one find love?  If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling. 
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now what? Don’t invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear.  It’ll get suspicious
and stare at your toes.  Don’t water the kiss with whiskey.  It’ll turn bright
pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,
but in the morning it’ll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you’ll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth.  You must
nurture the kiss.  Turn out the lights.  Notice how it
illuminated the room.  Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special beach.  Place it on the tongue’s pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B. C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others.  The
intersection of function and desire.  The I do kiss.
The I’ll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

Jeffrey McDaniel

May 16, 2012
My Garden

in the sun and in the rain
and in the day and in the night

pain is a flower
pain is flowers

blooming all the time.

-Charles Bukowski

May 8, 2012

I want to make you moonbeams out of fallen leaves
I want to make a house to hold your sleep

-Anis Mojgani

May 8, 2012
Down There

This is how you refer to your genitalia.
This is also where your mother told me,
while standing at the basement door,
I could find some ice cream.

-Cristin O’keefe Aptowicz

May 6, 2012
Full Moon Tonight

He feels like a shadow and the trees don’t talk out loud anymore.

-Anis Mojgani

March 12, 2012
Bad Arithmetic

you run a comb through your hair before you call her.
you start with, darlin’,

she interrupts, says, sometimes.

you hang up.
you mess your hair
and head to a bar,
all gnarled up and greedy.

you feel his hands all over her, finding persimmons.

you are loaded.
you are swinging around in the air, the wild baseball bat,
a dance called emptying the cash register.

you thank her for the lease.
you remember that beauty
is a puddle that dries up when the sun comes out.
the day is warm.

sorrow is a song sung
with no harmony.
you can sing it well
the more you practice.

-Derrick C. Brown

February 22, 2012

there are bees in my heart
bees in my chest
bees in my mouth
flying out
flying out
flying out

-Anis Mojgani

February 15, 2012

We wear our traumas
the way the guillotine
wears gravity.

Our lovers’ necks
are so soft.

-Andrea Gibson

February 14, 2012
Valentine’s Day In Dresden

I feel as ridiculous as faith-based food,
directionless like rain in outer space
when you reach for me.

Don’t unfurl vanilla fantastic at the black molasses.

Our love would be as dumb
as a bomb on a boomerang.

Dentists boycott your sweet kitty teeth.
Figs in your lips.
Let’s not fall in love.
I am tired of stroking that cat.

Do not show me that you are
an observatory of wet hot bummers and boy germs.

Don’t come to me all dressed-up in a peanut butter and
nightmare sandiwch.  I will not bite.
Your eyes as boring as a desert photograph,
your body, a nude model for bad hotel art.
Jealous as the unpublished, Naked as an open bar.
I know your type.  I know your font.  Wingdings!
Zapf Dingbats! Verdana…wide!
Comic Sans-sadness.

You’re a European mess
rolling around in my favorite dress
a mouth full of hell
and a chest full of hell yes.

Big deal, your eyes are green and gray.
Shut off the night vision, ya creep.

You kissed me on the throat.
What is wrong with you?!
You know that’s where I make my money!
You made my heart go cocaine Max Roach.
The rude rising noise.

Our sex is just going to be a constant bungled stumbling
into each other’s gross.
It is going to be like throwing pasta against the wall
to see if we’re done.
I know your favorite drink is casual tea.
Don’t pour it on me.

Get me to the hospital now!
I’ll have to tell the doctors how good I was feeling that day
and beg them to operate
to get me back to poetry normal.

Speak sugar all you want.

I don’t believe what you say
I appreciate your tone.
You are my start.

Rich people start wars.  The poor become flowers.
You are dive-bomber hell-diver.
I am working class 1945, ready.

It must be Valentine’s Day
in Dresden.

-Derrick C. Brown

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