VOICEMAIL POEMS

They say it can’t be, but it is, perfect. What they don’t know is that clocks circle the drain like pasta water, unasked questions we both know answers for. After some time we actually did become psychic—I know another life flickers somewhere in your mind, yet you come home to guess at The Price Is Right. It says I have seen what God does and the endoscopy, and I could not find another crevice thr...

It’s not about who made the mistake with the wrong address in the GPS getting us to Brooklyn an hour late, is it? It’s about your retirement and our finances, and a 20-something living in our house without employment but with a car payment. It’s about the four scrapings the dermatologist did this summer to determine if I have another basal cell carcinoma. It’s about the arthritis that’s making my...

that's a euphemism—yes, i have cavities, but it means i am bullet train, bound for collision. i am jar of marbles broken across a concrete floor. i am the rise of the seas. what i lack in control i make up for in firepower and i should not be given an excuse to start shooting. i am landslide tornado earthquake wildfire, ready to raise hell, ask questions later. i put the disorder in bpd and my nig...

Here we are among snow and ash. Cracked from saw or harsh November winds. We are wood always moving. Bit of flesh from birch, oak, cedar. Stacked for burning. Once I was home to a little ant, he swallowed my bones. Built a little city. More crawled in. They made me warm in winter. Little curling creatures. I said, soak more from soil, make each splinter firmer. My god we grow. Leaves arrived fat,...

On PCH somewhere Malibu— going north not quite yet at Point Dume, two biker boys, not quite men, stopped at a red light. Underneath hiero- glyphic hand signs a single red rose in hand outstretched. Electricity wrinkled between them, All-American rose received, ugly-beautiful bag scene. This scene was recalled to me like a home-movie dancing on the TV. ————————————– Mattie K. Lagan called us from S...

Talking shit, like you know about cracked knuckles and flamin hots with pickle juice. Or the broken heat lamps on the El, or getting high off a lakefront. Yesterday, I counted every duck at the lake and called them my woes. By hook by crook by crooked alderman, you learn that the trap that stays shut is the trap that starves. No one will beat or bite this place out of me. Not by the skin of their...

Bluster - Ola Faleti by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Lambs Ear and Lavender - Tonee Mae Mol by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Knowledge - Sandra Marchetti by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Tabitha - Meghan Malachi by VOICEMAIL POEMS

I Tell You I Grew From Dawn - Oisin Rowe by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Survivor Audition Video Number 3 - Isaiah Newman by VOICEMAIL POEMS

im overdue for a dream in which my teeth fall out - nat raum by VOICEMAIL POEMS

The First Time a Man Fucked me Like a Man - Mary Violet by VOICEMAIL POEMS

The Laughing Cinder Block - Marlanda Dekine by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Psychography - Birch Wiley by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Monter Drive - Colette Love Hilliard by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Its Not About That - Maureen Martinez by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Even Though I Hate the Movie - Mattie Lagan by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Uncle Loser The Knight of Swords - RJ Equality Ingram by VOICEMAIL POEMS

Make me dim-witted. One of those days where I can’t bare it—the hum of madness. My belly wreaking havoc up and down my spine, intestines in a knot. Garlic! Disgusting! or maybe you called it gross & I called it get me out of here. A different morning: I’m spinning sex between my fingers. Cavorting with an old pillow case hoping you’ll come along and lift my top. As a kid I would peel the skin off...

It's a bus stop in South America And crossing five lanes of traffic At ten in the morning. It's quiet, More than we were expecting. The taxi is late for arrival and I am thankful for every second. It's not knowing the language And our tensions so high, A tennis court in my chest. Love was being rewritten in my head You were becoming the epitome of sacrifice. You asked me what I would answer if you...

This is what you are missing Melissa – dust turned to waves in the desert – okra coming up two months too late – a forward-breaking gate opening into someone else’s field – I walk by a window and I don’t understand how little I see you – but so clearly the wasp backing out of a hole inside a long-dead tree – when we were children we lived with our grandparents and I remember without sadness mostly...

There are few mornings like this – When the tumble day slows and the sweltering July heat subsides; when memories of last night’s fire show resonate with a still-first sense of wonder. The footfall of Fatherhood feels fine underneath; I am comfortable here, at peace with a stirring that has often lingered in the quiet process of thinking. My daughter turns her eyes aware, Expecting the dance of co...

barking up the right trees stuck on the double branch don’t climb if you can’t get down if you can’t get down better learn to jump the kids are so back vlog squad with baby teeth sucking back cinnamon getting pantsed by their dads tamogotchi death hits all seven stages and everyone knows that the moon is made of cheese that green eggs go great on a ham sandwich that cyber bullying is cooler when e...