"twentysomethings" poems
coyotes like
magenta-clad twentysomethings
screaming:
singing at the unearthly
hour when I
watched the desert
stars overhead and
now I wonder what else it is they’ve
killed
and maybe if I’d hung enough
dreamcatchers I would have
caught all the dreams that
pulled me past
you (step
into my parlor said the spider to the
fly
but what is it anyway that sticks between your eyelids when you
sleep when you
keep your eyes shut and your mouth
open does the sandman glue them
together to resign you to your own
blindness
be careful with your eyes sweetheart because
too many waterfalls leave
cataracts in their wake.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
Across the court yard
The amorous twentysomethings
Open their window for the first time
They let the sun shine in -
They do not believe in curtains -
They let the sunshine in
He is Adonis
She is Mona Lisa
I hate them so much
It’s five in the morning
Our child screams us awake
Meanwhile, they sleep until noon
Passing by the window
I glimpse at the lovers entwined
“Not tonight” you yawn
Our friends are laughing
About what, we cannot tell
All we see is their love
He brings her breakfast in bed
Maybe it’s a birthday present? I suggest
Or he ******* up, bigtime - you reply cynically
They’ve become background noise
Only witnessed in passing
Or referenced in our idle conversation
A few weeks have passed
Their room is empty and still
We almost forget they were ever there
She sits on her bed and stares at nothing
She has not moved for hours –
A lonely still life
Adonis is waning
His eyes are sinking, and he’s losing hair
He’s become a walking skeleton
He does not move much these days
All of the time, she waits by his side
For whatever comes next
I keep telling you
That he will soon recover
I have to believe this
He's sitting up today
Telling jokes and laughing,
She's cracking that famous smile
The room is now full
With what must be family and friends
Saying their goodbyes
She is being cradled
by, I think, her mother – or aunt
We weep along
The guests are now long gone
The silence settles like dust
She holds his hand while he fades
Soon, it will be just her (and us)
Left in this quiet room
Alone
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
why do you talk like that?
like a schoolteacher
like your friends
like all the other twentysomethings
like you moved to a big city and here i am in a small town
i've known you your whole life
and now you tell me twice
you grabbed a drink last week
i could sense the tone as i read
it was not the you i knew
and i told you to get real
*she said to me:
you've been reading too much of that guy
who wrote catcher in the rye*
and i went silent and you were ****** right
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 10:45 PM UTC
When we lose
There comes to be a reversal process;
a rapid prototype souped into bitten rhythm.
And then you collide, like
light particles melting film to form
some replica of an inner war. What is it
about trying; what does attempt do –
Pacify? Resize? Boost the morale
of twentysomethings clinging
to past participles like the sting of a bee?
What can you do to stop the ache
of feeling like **** What is there to grasp
when no light appears?
But then a day comes.
It’s all fine, with friends, with music, with
anything other than self-flagellation.
At which point I fight the fight not to stay
a mere summary.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC