The Rogue Voice


February 01, 2007


there was the high school teacher.
the best friend I hardly talk to now.
the Barbie doll who most disliked with envy
the girl who was lonelier than me, who bought me books
the high school girl I met while filling a cup from a keg of beer
the crazed Sicilian girl with dark olive skin who liked it in her parents bed
there was the trailer park girl, I was awfully sober, she wasn’t,
the girlfriend I stayed stoned with,
the girl who hated me smoking,
the photographer with a purple car,
the eastern european girl who spoke little english,
the neighbor whose boyfriend lived with her,
the model who made my bed in the morning,
the nice french girl who made tea in the morning,
the mother,
the old friends sister,
the big girl, the huge girl, i don’t know how I managed it with that girl,
the girl with two nipples on her right breast,
the one who knocked on my door without me ever telling her where I lived,
the one who told me she had no soul,,
the little singer i couldn’t hold onto,
the bartender who moved here a year ago and still had her things packed in boxes,
the naive girl who assured me six hours wasn’t a long to drive to see me,

I’ve said I love you and had the same said to me but never have felt any love
now -
I’m dulled and bored with two bodies fucking their own emptiness
I want more
I am beginning to care
—Nicholas Kasimatis

Jesus died

Life unravels
on and on like
a comet
through deep space

beyond patterns
of hope light woven
by the prophets, and
into the shadows
of black holes

where no eye can
see the atoms
splitting the rocks
the torn veil.

—Stacey Warde

Smitten to Smiting

I so hate this
torment of
eyerolls and smite,
when the calls
aren’t enough—
all alone in the night,
(impolite, just not right!)
to be thinking,
and blinking,
and yet to be seen,
to feel shaken,
mistaken–just male cuisine –
the good ones all legends,
the dreamer’s vaccine.

—Celeste A. Barron


Post a Comment

<< Home