six-inch heels abandoned
in lampless corner       grimy pennies embedded in carpet

rent's due

wedding band girl "fab polka dot frocks"
waterfalling past knees        outta place
on casino bus destined for rest under Ft. Worth stars
now, now    ******* borealis speckled dice

true love waits

socialite lip balm and bourgeoisie hips compete
in bidding war over which black face triggerpulls
which black face eyes the ground
passerby the red light      the green light
all night diner    egg on chin   coffee-stained porcelain   teeth

"I forgave, I think. I forget."

crowded and paranoid in the left lane    the right lane
empty and weak and surrender and soiled underwear in ammonia nursing home
children is a word     time is a lie the polka dot and the interstate ain't selling
divorce the consequence of acoustic shadows

reblog   undo   #sotrue    reblog

living through x-ray radiotherapy the dotted gown
never the veiny calves or the blush or the eyeliner
somewhere in North Texas shawtys are in the club
shawtys are backin' it up    shawtys are dropin' it down

hit me+hit me+hit me=blackjack mishap

the marvel of the wind and of wind turbines
cognac decade brides     the epitome of class and natural elegance
standing like oil derricks and treated like oil wells
so secretive and philanthropic

this taxon remains nameless

casino turned dance hall   dance hall   skinny ties still a thing
this wine is good. is it a merlot?    no.    this is purely recreational
for birthdays   for weddings    and Ft. Worth missionaries
10-50 passengers   we've got 53, no 54 #hahahaha #whoops #party

who needs unprescribed drugs? me, me (!)

decomposing mascara sweat on brow the interstate no longer lit
polka dots has got the suicide by Manet pulled up
on her iPhone the financial stress   which shudders warm-blooded moms
on her lips    every mother a librarian   every mother a swing-pusher

but digression    next to bitterness   the lowest sin

edging the cultural gateway of the old west
miracles in and miracles out of tradition following
the slender bends of middle ancient Trinity River
children a word   pattycake a game

and time   time a lie we left to museum panoramas

Goliath:
You buy your love with bourbon creams,
cans of beans and full cupboard brims;
steal clothes to hide a torso of lies
twist that in with teaspoon brown eyes,
deeper than any holy bible’s spine:
found in hotel drawers,
away from the preachy, needy, cast iron shrine.

David:
Whilst the girl you’re with has nothing to give,
no family member nor money splendour,
you battle on with the train rides
cross country,
cross country train track guides.
Audiobook it; listen to it; learn it and write it,
write the letter she deserves, explaining
the ins and outs of your hidden nerves:
the nerves entitled ‘I don’t love you anymore’


My first poetry pamphlet, 'Homeland & Borderland' is still available to buy for only 3.00 GBP with free P+P to anywhere in the world. Both handmade and self published>> http://www.coffeeshoppoems.com/2012/11/it-is-here-homeland-borderland.html

Where the sea meets the sand
is the battle for the land;
a war for territory,
the everlasting story.

The tides that soak the beach
are always slightly out of reach;
Sol chases them away,
but the moon is here to stay.

So plan for the destruction
of man's every construction;
for eaten it will be,
by the hungry sea.

But forever is the sand
that marks our borderland;
eternal it will be,
unlike you and me.

Arkansas skies, endlessly wise and wider than the bluest tide
Dam closed so **** close to the edge, bullishness of the blueish hue
Borders of the borderland shuffles eastbound,
walls get built and torn back down
To see a thousand sunsets, grows tiring
Turn my back, decision made to see no more

Somewhere between
Life and death
In the borderland
Of an awake and a sleep
You strive very hard
To come back to nonage,
Somewhere on the timeline
Of creative visions and dreams
In your inner streets of "Drohobych"
In the search for lost indentity-
You fight with crocodiles
Waiting for the "cinnamon shops",
When you try to catch values
In all crying corners.
But they run away like mirror images,
When you travel by tram
Wthout a front wall
And you look for the colors
in this colorless reality...
But somewhere beyond self-mythology
You still await for a train...
And nobody knows of
Its true timetable...

Last bird, how cross you the distant
boundary beyond light?
In a circle of smoke I go
uttering her name the last of the words:
last splash of the high lake,
lisp of the winter wind,
words tail words, like water
emptied in the river and lake
retreating into the well
beyond them rocks deep
then into the heart of the earth
such is her name, buried deep
the unmarked borderland where
I must end and She must begin
incense-form fragrant her lips
that smell of nameless a love seeping in
across the vast, dark night;
it is the shadow of hooded fear
of being loved
that I wake up to in my nightmares
now I walk in the twilight
retreating, that upon us
the end of the day
kissed of her tresses

Sitting with you in the kitchen
Talking of anything
Drinking tea
I love you
…
Oh I wish you body here
With or without the bearded poem
-Elise Nada Cowen, "Sitting"


Face the firing squad, Evan -
the dowsing rod pierced memorial waters
coiling in the soft morning triangles.

Morning coffee builds browning steam
as I recall the feeling of lips, hungry lips -
ladies of death and water.

The mind is the borderland.
Where does mind go after the body
returns to the ash salt cycle?

Oh, hell - who cares anyway?
Billions of years from now, the sun eats us,
the sun dies and in dying

it eats its children, like the titans did.
There won't be new stars.
Whatever lump of death I become,

will be scattered into the universal zero
way, way before that. But ... my mind?
Does it just shut down, a key turn,

going cold? A message, read once?
A name known to a few, then unknown to all.
I no longer even desire one person like I did -

I just want to connect a few times
before the lazy azure turns black.
Some company in the evenings.  

I know you understand - remember
when someone slowly touched
the inside of your wrist?

"Let me out now please –
Please let me in"

It was punctuated night.
You sleep into wakefulness.

The space between the shut-eyes
trembles, when you start sweating.

The infant-death of the dream,
incites the borderland. The―

flames rise in a partisan way,
to erase the memories of guilt.

You are in deep grief for the
coiled sperms, from end to end,

they were longer than the body.
Would you like to wake up a jinn?

A digital forgetfulness, you seek
to solve the enigma of life.

That intimate space

Inner sanctum of the discarded sock

That empty coffee cup

You meant to take downstairs

Borderland between light and dark

A place of extremes

Joy and love and sometimes fear

Where we can truly be ourselves

At our most vulnerable

When we close the door

We switch off,

The clock hits pause

We sleep,

Defenceless

Against the monsters under our beds

And the ones inside our heads!

We are in the hinterland
The frontier of change
Making decisions into
The wind and crossing

We are in the borderland
The edge of known ideas
Stepping forward into
The storm and breathing

We are in the wasteland
The place they don't see
Advancing across terrain
The sun and enduring

I am hating the tightness
of your ******
That grip your body has
Over me

Perhaps it's the shape of your *******
That is so infuriating
And abhorrent to Nature

Such perfection of angle
into my want
I move at you
like rope pulled

Astride surprise
I rise a flea
witnessing
you you female

You borderland
of willing dissolution

this knowing
of clear it away for me

I am the force
Of nature you seek

Though I don't understand
How