Poetry

 

The Freshness of the First and Foremost of the Finest of the Lines

All philosophies condense to a line, with time, and all songs dwindle to a single sooty melody and even if you sawed the locks off your senses even...

god's mess

I stepped into my shadow I sank into the techno hole edged by neon fronds against a blood-red sky under the falling beating of the Great Hammered One...

dust keys

manic epiphany in new york city

deep in the shining circulatory system of this sexless giant, she has found that reality is a thirty-four dimensional version of the moebius strip:...

existing in theory

the boy who never climbed down to define himself became a man who can’t make words explain who can’t make even a comma exclaim who turns in place one...

The Chief Managing Director Has a Few Requests

I I want a dirtier sunset with tar and molten waste Got it? Give me sewer pipes that spew and rusty black scaffolding dewed with distillate of...

Death's Daughter (I)

I pilgrimaged to see her titanic head floating against a skyline of shampoo bottles, then swam up through black hair and climbed into her ear. A...

going up

in broken water trees bend until their knees touch the ground above the blazing and the bloody crown of the day fading in the city’s glass flanks...

cradled over cold rails into the 21st century

Hello, I’m Stef-Stef Whacket, and I come from your planet, just another sperm walking this flooded toilet, frankensteined from genetic alphabet and...

check reality

I’ve been up days talking god down from his tree, scraping my skullsides for more sky, and now, eating beans from the tin, I await dawn,...
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dancing in a cage wheeled through a forest of eyes

Outdoors the air is hostile and nervy, it bothers glam willows and the swan navy, and me, a slug hunched in a shell jacket, haunting the canal and...

no more poems

I Stefan White, 30, semi-husband, dishwasher, and nightguarder, sometime exultant worder, highgummed hypercritic, and microscopic king of nothing,...

help

I would leap any height to impress you, throw every word I know at you, insinuate virtues and devalue worlds, all so I can bask in my own...

homeward

It’s as if every word I write were a step in the massive journey toward myself, but not necessarily in the right direction. In the long hunt for...
Cherry

O O

way back at the beginning of time all reality except us was a cold corporate hallway and her body was my daily bread we made the trees shout before...

you

okay let’s see you’re in debt your significant other left you for a profile pic you feel most alive when you’re on drugs I know you you failed the...
Cherry

the way out

And I do, solemnly, with these words, on this 330th day of January, restore myself. The burned and frozen me. The sore uneternal hairy me. The wormy...
Cherry

mantra for learning to write

I see myself seeing. I hear myself hearing. I feel myself feeling. Why? To see sounds. To feel smells. To hear feelings. To taste sight.

growing down

I scorned myself to pieces, turned against the sun, denied the moon, and tossed us in the trash, convinced it was pressing and necessary to say NO,...
Cherry

Death's Daughter (II)

I married my favourite audience, a Victorian ghost with charcoaled eyes, all black skirts and sad classical music, and put her to bed for a year. I...
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Death's Daughter (III)

It seemed she’d outsmarted madness, then one twilight she disrobed to greet the Lord— as a favor to me, she did not look into His ravening face. But...

and the problem is

nevermind it’s all caved in and I just don’t want to restore the walls again I would rather be rained on aware that once I leave this rotting palace...
Cherry
Pick of the Month

Rise and Fall of the One-Man Empire

I unsolved a few mysteries (a good night’s work) then strutted the morning streets with a candle in my head, half-believing that everyone was...
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To the Woman in Pursuit

be careful what you ask of me: I deify the street at dawn tearstricken and pull down statues but only my own and honestly just the way you look at a...

Death's Daughter (epilogue)

The phone. She was crying, unsure who she was or what she knew. God had stopped dropping in for tea. She had flown to her preacher dad, who bolted...

Some Days Even Water Gives Me a Hangover

but here I lean swigging black beer listening to colleagues diss cocaine and curse and reminisce about the binges of yore every drink hardens my...