poetry – Page 4 – April Fox

November 20, 2015

The Smallest Ones

In my nightmares, there are children playing in a field of tall grass, so tall that the only way I know the children are there is by the sound of their voices and the way the grass moves as they run. Then there are men, impossibly tall men, dressed all in camouflage, with guns strapped…

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November 19, 2015

Refuge.

They are laughing in the sand, their high-pitched voices crossing over and under each other and up into the sky into the clouds dirty hands reaching for each other, circling around singing songs whose words we cannot recognize but the tune is universal; nursery rhymes are all the same. They are smaller than the dogs…

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November 19, 2015

Faces.

This is how we live with our sidearms drawn our fingers free of scars and polished

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November 16, 2015

The Innkeepers

The innkeepers are waiting their flags are on display: sharp-edged stars and stripes like blood and bone

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October 20, 2015

After Life

Someday, it will be the end. It will be over and if you believe in Heaven, I will rip you from your mother’s warm embrace pull out the thick umbilicus and strangle you with the only thing you ever truly wanted watch you fight the blackness that creeps into your eyes, bursts of light, the…

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September 28, 2015

Windows

In every window, there are shadows tiny girls with paper hair and twisted legs feet stuck out at unnatural angles pointy elbows and crooked teeth and eyes like telescopes, watching everything. They are armed with bats and chains and metal pipes they are grown to ten feet tall they are tongues untangled, mouths unclenched they…

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September 11, 2015

Pillbug

“I don’t care what you think of me,” he shouts into his megaphone, short fat body like a pillbug all rolled up and just as smart words like stagnant water, they have no substance no ability to hurt or to wash anything away “I don’t care what you think of me,” he shouts garbled speech…

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September 6, 2015

Vintage Christmas

I have paid a thousand hours penance for her spun silk hair and faded blue eyes sliced my voice on the shattered glass of fragile Christmas bulbs golden stars and sparkling orbs, blue and red and green and touched with glitter in the center of something plastic, the holy parents pray over the lifeless molded…

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September 4, 2015

Untitled, September 4 2015

This has been a trying week, with a lot of scary things happening close to home and around the world. I’ve been simultaneously trying to wrap my head around it all and to pretend that I don’t see the ugliness, and I keep coming back to this one thing that I simply cannot understand. With…

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September 3, 2015

The Latest Book

For those of you who are interested in such things, here’s the new book: a collection of some of my most controversial work, including “A Love Letter to Pat Robertson” and “Mother Whore and the Monsters on the Hill.” As always, thank you for your constant support. I appreciate you all more than I can…

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