Friends— I was on a bus heading home for Christmas listening to the conversation on Poetry Unbound between Marie Howe and Pádraig, and I got so excited that half way through the episode I had to stop and write this weird little queer horny poem.
I hope Marie will indulge me borrowing her words and her name, and that Pádraig will endure the title and being cast in the role of a lighthouse.
I also got to recite an earlier version of this poem at a poetry night at Trident Books in Boston.
Let me know how this finds you 🙆
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
as the bus driver misses the highway exit confused shapes repeat through the fog reticent structures the same bridge twice road signs ditches freshly ploughed earth thick with moisture refusing its embankments marie knows that this is what the living do. she knew it as she danced her night in awe at the love blossoming between her friends as she was brought into their fold sticky with joy and gazes and drinks from a guy who knew her from the internet as the bartender kissed her and asked if he could drop by after his shift ends as she hosted him and kissed his broad back bubble butt trimmed chest some of her own semen still on her side as she was held in the bosom of her beautiful friends and talked death and politics and read her own poems about a love that she still carries in her chest never knowing when it will outpour again as she overhears herself quoting a lighthouse— we always come back to the same one or two things anyway.
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.