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Michael Lee // Shelters // A Poem Observed // Button Poetry

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Immediate Aftermath of a Misplaced Friday (4)

I can’t find the word, or a synonym

of the word, or the triple chin-onym

of the word,

to explain seeing the sky

through the density of this ocean.

Let’s

say

h e a v y p u r p l e s

weighted by a wasted frat boy’s prayer

tethered with weathered sailor knots.

Engulfing them with the insistence of a stalker’s correspondence

are the bent steel frames of cars

clashing in nonlinear time

the silent bang of bumpers decimating bumpers

of reverberating currents shuddering from the Atlantic to the Black Sea

and in between, in the glimpses of silence, in the sky, those lights—

the clumps

composed of the still-beating hearts of

unborn children

they ring out.

It’s the same

recipe for everything else in the universe:

emptiness,

shell-casings

embraced by the monsters we’ve

already become.

This

is fear, with the vaguest, most concrete

sense of rhyme and reason.

I can’t draw breath.

Nothing else stops.

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Immediate Aftermath of a Misplaced Friday (3)

The mutiny of my existence screams molten

and mad against the rocks on the distant shore of someone I haven’t fucked yet

or may never fuck.

I justify my to-be’s with the vastness of space.

I can reach out my hands to touch. But when I

open my mouth, I breathe tingles against skin; I

open my eyes to fry them bloodshot with cheap cooking oil,

and I’m still hopelessly prying floorboards off my chest,

straining for the right words that will stop me killing myself.

Wedging in the chisel between panels,

wresting open the black hole built into my ribcage,

eyes lifted to this dead star, to finally

feel consumed.

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One Dream

I love men

They sit in my dreams with WHITE

WET T-SHIRTS and MUCLSES rippling,

So clearly

I love men

-Azania Tripp

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Immediate Aftermath of a Misplaced Friday (2)

I have the heartbeat of busted salt and pepper shakers

from a waitress in the back alley after her night shift

trying to find some shape that looks how she feels.

Someone will have to walk there today,

tomorrow,

shards of glass jagged and spunky until

one day they are round and jaded, sand between a toddler’s

toes.

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Here’s a new poem from my upcoming book, What the Night Demands, which comes out on April 25th, thanks to Write Bloody Publishing.

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Immediate Aftermath of a Misplaced Friday (1)

Incoherent, the wannabe words

painted themselves a complimentary vessel

threw my choking face down against the asphalt

knocked everything limp but my heaving innards

and my breath flew out my lungs to daub at butterfly wings

in the galaxy next door

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Michael Lee's poem pass on

If you want/need more: http://michaelleepoetry.tumblr.com/

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Here is Miles Walser's submission for Write Bloody Publishing's contest.

For more from the same: http://mileswalser.tumblr.com/