So I kind of forgot that I ever posted poetry on this site-so I'll continue to do it even though xanga is on it's last dying breath...I just had a big portfolio due in my poetry class so I'll post some of them on here presently! First of all the poem dubbed "VERY sexy" by my classmates: The Transatlantic Between 1. I have a longing to burst open a globe, to see the insides because what’s in there but black liquid anyway? Running down into heels of our shoes-makes the socks stick. Or miles of plastic? Or one hundred lost love songs sent to an overseas stranger? I want to burst the tiny globe in your mouth. Roll it between your lips and mine. I would open my teeth to it. Suck on it like a jawbreaker, dance with your Russian tongue. Lick your closed eyelids, make them sticky with whatever glues the continents to the sea. Write so many things on your face with the Ukrainian ink.
Place names: Moldova, Kiev, St. Petersburg, Bemidji, Minneapolis. 2. We could take the globe outside to every town’s ice rink,
listen to our string instruments under wool caps while sharing the orb, back and forth trading it between the silver blades of our feet. Keeping divided the territories between you and I. 3. I want to swallow the globe. Wait for it to take root, vines growing out of my stomach and down to the bottoms of my feet and out in one final break of skin, grounding and planting me wherever I may be then, a deep-seated star on the old maps. Old globes. A capital. 4. Maybe I’d call for you like a bird calls goodbye. You would come and I’d kiss you. I’d un-swallow cleanly our proof of place. Existence of east and west. Our northern states. I’d place it in your hands and watch you crush it beneath boot soles like a little black beetle. I doubt there would be much blood, just a little sticker made in the U.S.A. And my TA's Fave until I crushed his little heart by telling him the last line meant nothing at all and I completely pulled the whole poem out of my ass....(gross imagery!) You will be missing to me
My cavalry of gray horses ride across a continent of little barley, green bristlegrass like a sea itself flatter than the space between the wild eye sockets of steeds keeping track of that cruel clear blue to get closer to the farm I’ve sold to the dirt roads I’m hunting to breaking you out of prison. (Thank Johnny Cash for that last line actually.) | 