this is a gay poem this is a gay poem for two reasons-- because i'm writing it & because it's about loving you-- this is a poem about what kind of boy you make me-- i'm a kaleidoscope-- turn me i'll be whatever color your want-- the broken stained glass windows of the church that taught me to pray-- of what is my penance for this-- is there an amount of hail mary's that will make my love for you & my body something other than a sin-- oh mother what kind of son picks glass from his heels-- oh i don't believe in confession but i go anyway-- i take i write all the things wrong with me underneath my tongue & hope that kissing you can be some form of forgiveness-- oh you're never ready to love someone-- & no one is ever ready to love you-- it's not about being ready-- it's about how many times you're willing to have someone else look through you-- searching for the right color-- the right shade of man i have become-- the right shade of girl my god thinks i am-- & he calls me wife of Abraham & i say i'm married to the color the sky was this morning through my window-- yes this is another gay poem by a gay boy who feels the day around him like fist-- course knuckles of my father-- this day has scales-- sheds it's skin-- leaves bite marks on my ankles this day is the snake Mary didn't bother to step on-- no fuck that this isn't a gay poem-- this is a boy poem this is a boy poem about wanting to grow a stained glass window-- water it & have it never ever break-- if i were to die today i want to be remembered as the color the sun was through me window-- fish-tail heart beat under covers-- oh what do you know of this boy? this kaleidoscope-- you love to turn & turn
Uncategorized
11/03
cassette tape i fear i will come apart like this-- ribbon by ribbon entangled in the repetition of my own voice-- this is the one song i know how to sing-- rewind me-- run your fingers over my topography of sound-- how does my whole voice feel in your hands? maybe it feels like a coin dropped in the rain-- i lay heads up for your to spend me on a gumball-- i'm thinking of the video tape player on top of the square black living room tv-- i'm thinking of it's nasty habbit of eating the ribbon from the tape-- memories down its throat-- it was so hungry-- there went the ghosts of noise & shadow & bodies pulled thinner & thinner-- oh most days i want rewind myself in bed at night as the moon lays there beside me-- a rusted penny-- i tease it & say that we're both two old cassette tapes collecting only the clamor of rain on our bodies-- i lay & only out of curiosity-- i pull myself apart-- thumb prints on my own strands of hymnal-- here is written the memory of our whole family sitting in the second row pew & singing Ave ave ave Maria-- oh Maria & your cassette tape skeleton-- oh just like mine-- pack yourself back up-- it's morning-- it's rewind-- it's time to speak backwards & re-write the story of your tongue-- i find love poems cliche so i only write them backwards while i thread myself back together-- warm & safe between two soft blankets & the sun outside was almost a chicken but god went & cracked it on the edge of the pan-- sunny side up-- it's november now & i'm starting this recording with the tunes of the sparrows by my window, the metronome clicking of my heart, & the sound the sun makes as it cracks & sizzles
11/02
you are my cup of grey sky you are my cup of grey sky-- pouring down over the uneven sidewalk-- i wake up in the morning on a quest to pull back in the breath i lost in the cold morning air-- how did we let it become november? how i get here on this street tracing your silhouette in the curvature of each lamp post neck-- where did my spirit go when i exhaled so loudly that it left me? i fog my own glasses-- am i a cloud in your grey grey sky or a kaleidoscope you peer through-- broken stained glass sunset under your feet-- i had been a green beer bottle-- a blue & yellow dinner plate dropped on the red speckled kitchen floor like a laugh-- a laugh of a thousand pieces-- & this sidewalk is uneven & prone to letting us trip all over the idea of each other-- this is me working on another poem for you-- this is me trying to not let myself become a cloud in the midst of all this writing about you-- i'm pouring out i'm pouring out-- a spilled inkwell-- spirit climbing sleepily up each rung of naked maple trees-- yes, it's november & every single leaf fell while i was busy making you my cup of grey sky-- maybe you can find where my breathe wondered off to on this cold morning-- until then put me to your eye & close the other-- here i am your kaleidoscope boy-- what kind of sunset can do you see through me?
11/01
alarm clock// meteor shower my alarm clock is the same meteor that killed the dinosaurs-- a scream-- a fire-tail-- i always feel it approaching-- it's cold-heavy body full of so much rage-- of plunging wrath-- it looses it's black feathers in the fall-- i lay gripping bed frame-- i fear becoming nothing but a crater-- filled in with rain water-- scientists will come to inspect me-- they will run fingers over my banks-- over my elbows stones & bolder knees-- they will conclude that my face is nothing but a place where a meteor once smacked the earth-- this crater in my jaw-- in my pelvis--my clavicle-- all these meteor showers my body has endured-- each morning i watch their descent-- their fierce & vengeful plummet towards the surface of my bones will you hide under the bed with me? will you hold me still & tell me to close my eyes for five minutes more of sleep-- will you tattoo the red alarm clock times all over my skin? line by line by line-- tell me this is all part of waking up-- the etching of the hours into blood-- i tremble-- your timpany drum-- my flesh knows when impact is coming-- wrap yourself around me & when the walls of my room scream-- i want you to be silence-- silence receding into every corner-- silence i grab onto like the edges of my mother's quilt-- i open my eyes to survey the damages-- the cavity pounded through my rib cage-- a valley i become valley each morning-- i open my eyes & fill myself with rain water-- a bowl a basin-- hush the howl of my alarm-- kiss your forehead & get up-- in the bathroom before the mirror i lift up my shirt to see where the meteor made impact-- this is the same meteor that killed the dinosaurs-- it comes back each morning for me-- tomorrow will you hold me still again? your ink thumb print your foot step in the mud-- your crater lover-- fill me with rain water & float above-- you can be a cloud & i'll me the sky each morning shatters as we wake
10/31
if i were to be bit by a vampire this halloween i imagine it would be a surprisingly casual encounter-- maybe i'd be going out to get the mail & a man in a black cape would approach-- we'd make small talk & i would notice his transyvanian accent & make nothing of it until of course he'd lean over & bite my neck-- there's something sensual about that isn't there? or is it just me? maybe i'd on the bus into norristown sitting next to a strange tall man-- we'd talk about the absurdity of candy corn or the monster mash playing on the radio for the eight time that morning & before you know it he'd bite me & you know the people around wouldn't think much of it considering it is halloween & encounters with the undead are rather common-- i would knock at your door & ask you to let me in-- you'd probably tease me & my new vampire form mocking "i'll let you in but only if you say pretty pretty please" i guess i'd have to get an umbrella-- a large black umbrella to keep from burning up in the sun-- no one would ask me why my skin was so pale considering i already generally have the complexion of a vampire-- come to think of it things wouldn't actually be that different-- i would lay awake at night knowing that sleep wouldn't be coming-- i would lay awake asking you to let me in the front door-- my body only a shadow-- a dark form cast by the moon-- i would lay awake & mourn my body that once slept-- mourn dreams of flight-- then of course i'd remember that i could indeed turn into a bat & fly but it wouldn't be the same as that dream flight-- that world un-tethered-- like becoming an infinite swing-set-- a pendulum-- higher & higher above the tree in my bat wings-- a little girl who is also me would point up & ask her father if that is a bat flying-- thin wings slicing through nighttime clouds & he would say yes & point to me darting tree to tree to tree-- i would travel the whole town over to see everyone in their halloween costumes-- i'd see myself the 11 year old grim reaper-- the little blue alien-- a power puff girl there i'd stand-- wobbly legged a 3 year old pumpkin-- holding the hands of my mother & father-- i'd grow vines-- plucked from the patch-- i'd be carved & they'd place a candle in my throat-- oh how i'd glow-- oh how i used to glow-- there are so many years in one halloween night-- by the end i would feel heavy & almost sleepy-- glide back home on the faint wind chime laughter of trick-or-treaters i would take a shower-- hang up my black cape & attempt to brush my fangs in the mirror only to remember that i lost my reflection too-- sighing i touch the foggy mirror-- draw a smiley face-- oh to live the life of a vampire-- asking asking asking to be let in-- i'd pull the candle out of my throat-- hang from the ceiling to sleep
10/30
melancholia: a state of planting flowers & forgetting to water them-- the marigolds that flicker in the windowsill-- i made my rib cage into a dock for you to keep your sail boats-- sway-- lunge tide-- water higher & higher up to our necks-- have you seen a mermaid? have you fallen in love with a mermaid? her body wrapped in seaweed-- she is your sail to unfurl-- catch gale-- these bones are wooden-- gnawed at by sea water-- this is what it's like loving a poet-- there are so many words in my head sometimes it feels like drowning in the drain of a thousand throats & oh i love it-- their voices echo in me-- me the ear pressed to the conch shell-- me to open book full of wet soil-- this year i plant marigolds in the windowsill-- electric candles-- they remind me that at home there is a body waiting for me-- & that body has thumbs for planting more seeds-- pray for rain-- if nothing else pray for rain--pray for a shower head & warm water--fingers running through hair-- soap clouds-- rain rain rain & the flame in the window was always a flower trying to dig roots into plaster wall-- i feel like a piano being rained on in some music video for a song i want to sing along to but don't honestly know the lyrics-- here-- if you need a place to stop for the night your ships can rest -- tie rope to dock-- the tide rises to our necks-- stand tip-toe with me in the deep end-- what are we doing here?-- isn't it october? i have snake teeth left over from august-- i have a love for you left over from august-- i'm a summer bond lover sticking the wet leaves back in the trees-- i don't like to watch the world so full of falling-- the only thing the rain is good for is kissing-- yes then-- i'll be the friendly garter snake-- the one who crawls on his belly behind those flowers i will inevitably forget to water-- i won't bite-- wear me like a necklace i want to wrap around you-- i don't want you to fall for the mermaids-- their song a faint hum on my docks-- my bones are made of wood-- there are marigolds glowing in the windowsill for us to find our way back to these bodies-- i drowned in word again but here i am-- i'm back for you-- your garter snake-- your august lover-- melancholia man catching rain in a bucket as it drips from the ceiling--
10/29
you should have disappeared years ago i stole melatonin from the catacombs-- felt my bed room walls origami fold me a crane -- me, a body-- creased mouth bent spoon neck-- paper cut thumbs-- 1,000 cranes i folded-- is this enough to ask the gods to name a star for me to keep? cosmic pocket change-- i clamor like dimes-- suns burn craters in my thighs those gnat buzzing stars-- oh how they pour from our chimney-- & so on & so on i sway a yo-yo string-- pull me back up against the asteriods's cold hard chest trapeze artist balanced between each side of my rib cage-- he falls frequently-- climbs ladder rung spine-- climbs esophagus-- the plastic play ground slide you should have disappeared a years ago the magician says as he places me inside his hat as he covers my mouth with a white glove as i feel myself burst white rabbit as he blows me into a bubble-- oil spill rainbow skin you should have disappeared-- so so many years ago inside dust cover-- weight of a novel pressed against bone words thrust across chest-- type-writer kiss on type-writer kiss-- so so many years ago inside that magician's hat-- that should have been the end-- so so many years ago when you climbed up the play ground slide determined to ascend up yo-yo string-- gnats as stepping stones-- stars as gnats wave planets from your face-- jupiter & saturn all trying to kiss your collar bones you should have disappeared all those years ago-- i unfold myself-- unfold paper crane walls of my room-- paper cut a window in my thumb-- the sun is a star is a sun is star warm pressed up against my asteroid body-- i burn up in the atmosphere 1,000 crane fire this parking meter i pay for sleep by the hour--
10/28
scarecrow you forget your name-- you watch it dismembered-- letter by letter-- it's carcass in the beaks of the crows-- it's memory-- a phantom-- weight of moon light on your tongue-- walk to the corner of the field-- you carry your father's clothing-- plaid shirt-- jeans-- straw hat-- match-stick head sun drop-- burn holes in your forearms-- corn stalk hush-- back porch light all-embracing this body-- they call you kindling-- a pile of wasp bones-- handful after handful of hay down your throat-- you eat to forget your skin-- morning dew soaks you-- saturated face-- you hold frost in your shoulders-- your kind of fear surfaces in your eyes-- stitch over stitch-- you own a body of apprehension-- of isolation of wordless mouth of calling beaks-- you dream of beaks-- they snap your father's cloths from your body-- you dream match stick sun-- gentle ignition of flesh-- you burn-- corn husk daughter-- Indian corn tooth brother-- smile black feather swallow spoonful of night-- this night is early & thick this night is a thunderstorm of black feather & bird feet in mud-- follow foot steps to the back porch-- smolder & blaze-- you crucifix-spine man-- what have you done to watch over us today? have you said your Our Fathers? Have you said your Hail Marys? Do you know each fox by name? Each hare? You come down from your stake air thick-- cold feather night-- your spine of foot prints & echoing bird call-- a scream repeating beneath your father's clothes you press finger to mud-- you etch lines in the dirt that never form a word-- you claw & rake-- desperate so desperate for your name
10/27
this is a poem for teenagers who kiss in graveyards this is a poem for dry leaves-- for steam off my flat iron-- for my chipped black finger nails-- this is a poem full of elegies i wrote to myself-- for nights i used my windowsill as a mother-- for night i jumped & splashed next mars-- this is for teenagers who kiss in graveyards-- for a dead bent maple tree on cemetery hill in Kutztown-- it's boney fingers fishing for our bodies-- catching us like a grandmother-- watching us while we wrapped ourselves in grass stains & hyperbole-- wrote our names on the back of our hands as approximations for tombstones-- a poem for snake coil ear bubs with one speaker blow out from too much Green Day this is a poem for feeling small in the mouth of another person-- for reading graveyard names like your own-- for taking a spoon to dig yourself a bed-- dirt cold under finger nails-- this is a poem for zombies & for trying to fall in love with vampires & for mud caked on Chuck Taylors & for laying under moon shadow-- the skeleton tree-- the red moon full of all the blood we've managed to rain from our bodies-- this is a poem for bathroom mirrors & the people who look into them-- for re-applying black nail polish-- for leaning up against a car door-- one ear bud in-- making fog on the window with your breath & tracing a heart-- your heart-- your heart as phantom & fleeting as its outline in the window-- this is a poem for you
we are this perhaps
we are this perhaps-- we are used to express uncertainty or possibility-- loving you is like catching the street lamps all turn on at once-- a silent resounding of light-- this perhaps of us-- is comet tail evening-- is canvas shoes by the door is a kiss left on my neck-- is a sunset full of moths-- it's like i could never driving home alone-- your voice headlights & rear-view mirrors let's be a stop sign-- i'm thinking about when i'll get to hear your smile next-- when oh when will you hold me like a pocket watch like a silver dollar-- the moon is a hammock now-- we are this perhaps-- this maybe oh sleep with me like a rolled up receipt you find in a back pocket-- oh open me-- i'm an old yellow-page book with no words-- let's read each other's call numbers in the glow of Christmas lights strung above my bed-- oh perhaps perhaps i met a boy & i knew that i loved him so easily i mistook him for the faint blaze of street lamps-- i have never loved someone like i love you
Robin Gow 