Baby

Baby

her lips were as red
as her hair. her brows
furrowed. valleys dug into
her forehead. caked in
blemish-cover. My eyes
seek her realities.
her jeans were rolled
up her shins, darkened
legs unshaved. suddenly,
she looked like lost
icons. her makeup cracked.
underneath, her blemishes
radiated.

The Little Mermaid

The Little Mermaid

She seemed to lust
for an age of innocence,
but she was less
Ariel and more Betty
with black and red
hair. A mix of urban and broad-
way. Over her head,
a fluorescent halo.

un tight lol Ed

un tight lol Ed

"can u help me? my bro wont
get over his ex. genius
me said i know how he feels. now
hes buggin me" "Sure
no prob" " u r
the best travis. ty"

Major English Literature II

Major English Literature II

I overheard that she doesn't like Heart

of Darkness, thinking

she's better than Joseph Conrad.

Her voice speaks into empty space,

fills a balloon that no one sees

or cares about. She hates Wordsworth

and Blake. Rivals one's ego

and mirrors the others cynicism.

Simply, she looks a bitch.

For Morale

For Morale

She stepped out

of a 1950s pin-

up girl poster

She wore different

colored flowers each day

in her tomato-red waves

But her face was drawn

on Not like the posters

painted Now out of print.

Mississippi

Mississippi

When the boats were still

on streets, the cars

in trees, the houses

roofless, we slept

on Bucky Sanders' trampoline.

I told him I lost my sleeping

bag before Lindsay Windemere

could say she lost her pajamas.

I felt his legs through

the fabric of his pants. Thin,

muscular. His face began to tighten.

Lindsay, somewhere on the edge

of the trampoline, huffed.

In the dark, he grew

closer. I heard him

groan. Suddenly, I felt wet

soak through his pants, into mine.

It stank of urine.

When the sun allowed,

we all washed

the clothes and bags

in the water up his driveway.

Lindsay laughed. From a distance,

I heard Mrs. Sanders, "That's just

being American."

Floor

Floor

My shoelaces flopped

to pink carpeted floor,

lazily. I realize

I don't need rabbits,

holes. All that jazz

echoes in my fingers,

works the laces

Where the shoelaces loop

and knot, there's dark

stains and frays. My fingers

tend to avoid grime.

Grandpa

Grandpa

I pulled down

the planes on strings.

My dad, under his mom's

careful watch, boxed

the miniature war

machines labeled, "Hulan's

Work." One of the hooks

on the ceiling snapped. I

couldn't avoid the B-26 Marauder

plummeting. Grandma shouted

obscenities at her son.

I felt the loss

throbbing red on my

face. My dad, red with shame.

At First Sight

At First Sight

I was selling out

my faith. In his arms,

he held me. Too tight

to feel threatened. By him,

our crimson love-

seat. Burgundy cloth

unraveled

at the corners. He worked

at home, I was away

until dark. I finally saw

someone else. Worse

happened. People met

everyday, people forgot.

Mother

Mother

My mom slams another

medicine cabinet, empties

her last migraine pills,

and starts vacuuming.

Vigorously pushing

and pulling in

my room, a dirty t-shirt

discarded on the floor

gets sucked up, caught.

“Damn it!” The vacuum

wheezes in high pitches,

coughing the dirt back

onto my bed, into my closet.

“Clean this up! My life

would be easier without you

giving me these headaches.” I

grab my keys and leave. The sun

ahead reminds me of summer

beaches and Sunkist orange juice.

I listen to my engine in waves.