Saturday, February 4, 2012

Backroads Literary Magazine Submissions

This one is rather self-explanatory. Every year, an organization at UPJ (Backroads Literary Magazine) goes to publication, including the artistic work of students--poetry, painting, prose, photography, etc. So, after some encouragement from some of my more lovely friends (no one else could have weaseled this out of me), I put together a small selection of my favorite poems from the past year or so to submit, which I thought I'd share:


July 2010

Jamey

Summer glow on

Summer skin,
Summer fun on a
Summer’s whim

Summer sand and

Summer surf,

Summer simple,

Summer hurt.

September 2011

Cody

The most disturbing mirrors have no glass in them,

But are instead made of flesh.
I looked into to you, and for a moment thought I saw myself.

The old cliché of us, eyes that exchange conversation,

Disintegrating the thick blackness of our animated outlines.

Clever words that mean nothing, a bathroom needing to be cleaned.

September 2011

Burn Run

Monica slides into the seat beside mine,

The contents of her telltale clutch
Resisting its zipper closure.

My blood hums in my ears,

Almost as loud as the engine beneath my foot.

Hot glass against our thumbs,

As my car fills with the aroma of Christmas.

At least, that’s how it seems to us.

I marvel at the lemmings to either side of us,

Eyes forward, gotta make good time.

Mid-afternoon, surely we are bold,

Laughing because it doesn’t matter—

Look, Moni, I can steer with my knees.

I suppose everyone writes about drugs,

I only do it to make myself look tougher than I am.

But right now, all I give a shit about

Is finding a motherfucking Taco Bell.

Transcendence is an illusion, universalism is a farce.

If I kiss my best friend, I can blame it on the pot.

Isn’t this just a way to escape ourselves?

October 2011

Floor Show

We shared a moment, encapsulated in anticipation,

Your eyes met mine before my heels met the stage.
The first chord was yours and you single-handedly

sent electricity coursing through my veins.

Blue lights caught the glitter, plastered meticulously

Like smattered flashbulbs around my eyes.

Steel boning, straining to confine as I open my mouth,

My voice defeating its efforts, the whitest of lies.

November 2011

New Bedroom Furniture

Pieces, strewn across my bedroom rug

Burns on my knees and elbows
Grazing as we twist and screw

Together pieces of particle board posing for hard

Wood, plastic and smooth to the touch

Me in ways that cannot be taken back

To back we sleep, indifferent to one

Another one night stand

Beside me, as I keep falling

Into you, I breathe harder as we

Part ways, part worlds

Apart in time and space and motivation.

I’ll miss you, Haircut.


December 2011

Said is Spoken

A ribbon of smoke trickled from the end of my lit cigarette,

Strangling the smell of the softly settling snow.
This winter had been mild, but not as mild as you, in fact—

In all my life, I never knew such guileless curiosity.

I’ll never forget the trepidation in your voice, the fear in your eyes,

As you gave to me that tiny bit of information.

Somewhere, I already knew.

The seemingly harmless pair of friends, entering a bar,

Dangerously close to one another, the mark of lovers.

Stolen glances in places of professional practice,

Where affairs like yours are strictly, explicitly forbidden.

But I congratulated you.

Between best friends, said is spoken, and spoken sealed.

I look into his eyes, say good morning with a smile.

He doesn’t know that I know, and doesn’t that just add to the fun?

He’s pretentious in his sweater-vests, pedantic with his fixtures.

It makes me laugh, because you and he are just precisely alike.


February 2012

Log Cabin

Cold.

Feels good in my lungs—

I’ve been choking them for two hours,

After all.

Compulsively sating my fixation,

Praying for a chance just to hear him speak.

Poems.

I hang on his words,

Like my underwear on his bedpost.

Retreat.

A heavy latch, horizontal mortar.

My tears in the sink, but no mirror.

Knives.

For a moment, lodged

Underneath my emotions.

Child.

Unaccustomed to being refused,

Someone should have beaten the shit out of you.

Pathetic—

An attempt at eloquent insult,

Rubbing salt in your own wounds.

Behind.

Where I’m leaving it, and leaving you;

You never could keep up.

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