Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

hand grenade bodies, after Lisa Jarnot

o hand grenade red bodies of loring park,

you paintings of hand grenade bodies, you bed

with bodies and kneading and needing red hand

grenade bodies you bed, o and you the

bed and bodies, I sleep on the paintings of red

beds and hand grenades and emptiness, you the

hand grenades of the attempting and the receptacles,

you the womb of emptiness, the emptiness

for the womb receptacles, you the kneader of the

accidents and bodies and non-wet matches and

wombs, and you the wombs and you the wet

empty bodies and me and wombs, and you the

attempting yet starving, and the feast and

wet match starving hand grenade bodies and you

rasping and grasping and wombs the accident

receptacles starving, and you the receptacles and

wombs, and her the one I love, and we who cannot

produce, and all starving emptiness, and all

the bodies and wombs and grenade hands on

the paintings starving of this accident.

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
luke-gagnon
American
Published
Apr 18, 2013
Lines·Words
20·160
Notes

this is an emulation of Lisa Jarnot's "Ye White Antarctic Birds" below:

Ye white antarctic birds of upper 57th street,

you gallery of white antarctic birds, you street

with white antarctic birds and cabs and white

antarctic birds you street, ye and you the

street and birds I walk upon the galleries of

streets and birds and longings, you the birds

antarctic of the conversations and the bank

machines, you the atm of longing, the longing

for the atm machines, you the lover of the

banks and me and birds and others too and

cabs, and you the cabs and you the subtle

longing birds and me, and you the

conversations yet antarctic, and soup and

teeming white antarctic birds and you the

books and phones and atms the bank

machines antarctic, and you the banks and

cabs, and him the one I love, and those who

love me not, and all antarctic longings, and all

the birds and cabs and also on the street

antarctic of this longing.

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell luke-gagnon how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write