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|11 Poems (standard:poetry, 0 words)|
|Author: AJ||Added: May 31 2001||Views/Reads: 2136/1287||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|11 short poems|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story I Need One More Person To Make A Monopoly When I wake up without covers and cold And my blankets are bunched up by my toes And all the empty air rests on my unprotected self I sometimes feel like I am Park Place And someone in some coverless bed somewhere is Boardwalk And I wish I could find them So we could sleep in our hotel Where the blankets stay on tight and the air is balmy Because when I get up and remake my bed I always wake up tired. Snow-Eater Living at mountain-top Curled inside a puddle Of melted snow Warm as a womb The view who Kicks me in the stomach Also fills my mouth with flannel While I binge On snow like a fistful of summer's first ice cream And snowboard to the music Of chair lifts not yet running The electricity of hiking With chunks of slush Who slither slowly sliding Down my skin to swim In my sweat in the small of my back And then to be an inch From the sky And eyes bruised blinded by blue You shift And I stretch And salt in my lashes When I know I have been Sacred When I finally swell And there is nothing Less beautiful Than your Daddy as a baby And I drop into the mirror white And hold the sky in my lungs And I smile So shiny at my sister In blue that tastes like The frosting on my life Nobody Has Ever When it hurts to talk to anyone Because they're not you I bring out your face And nobody has ever Seen this painting except You and I Nobody has ever Touched that spot under Your earlobe You assure me I wish your canvas Would come alive And reassure me. When in Doubt, Choose E His hand quivered for an eternity Resting gently on the number 8 Then, with an astonishing burst of energy He pushed and heaved himself To the next number and .Lingered. His pale round face looked down on the girl Who studied his features for a sign, A miniscule movement. Her bloodshot eyes strayed To an answerless page. Filling in each unhelpful oval Was like squeezing water out of a stone sponge Each pencil mark Was like writing with A Number Two tree trunk Searching the page, she finally saw A question Or A choice She could answer A question of escape The answer was so easy Joe Bloggs would have got it right Black out the oval Which reads Stand up and leave now Before you waste your youth Waiting for that hand to budge. Tweet
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