REM Stage 6: A Poetry Blog || julie niklas


A Girl I Talked to Once
05/27/2009, 8:22 PM
Filed under: Poetry, Writing

Not that I would ever do that
she says, leans in closer and blows
her tobacco breath on my face
I feel it, warm like a mothering hand
grabbing for my cheeks
she has ashes under her fingernails from
last night when she fell asleep
with her hand in the ashtray,
head on the open page of a
phonebook
I close my eyes and i still smell
the smoke and orange juice she
had for breakfast hanging off her clothes
like jewelry
clanging with her words
I saw a show on that the ther night.
I wouldn’t worry about it.

She picks a piece of fuzz from her chest
and I wonder where she slept last night
and the night before
her hair reeks of strange places and
people, the odors sting me when
she lifts it into a pontytail and reaches
into her purse for bottle of perfume.
Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing.
I don’t tell her where I’m going.

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Photography Shoes
05/26/2009, 11:08 PM
Filed under: Poetry, Writing | Tags: , , , ,

These are not photography shoes they
catch wind and leaves as I run back
to the car with my camera and hand over my face
and hair choking on the treeline like a disfigured flower.

The ground is dry and foamy and unearthly
not wet but full of sinkholes in Bourbon county
where an old country road means more than old and more
than country and a 93’ Toyota, red, swallows the road
gargles the noise in its throat and disappears and

my feet duck for cover under chunks of ground
when I try to walk through kamikaze water droplets
as they speed at my toes and their engines scream
and slam into the world around me.

I dodge domino trees while they hurtle to earth
snapped by the minty grey breath of the storm
and wrapped in wedlock with the infinite black fence
that I stand on balanced just barely, lens in palm, feet bent
around the bottom rung—these are not photography shoes.



Iceberg
05/26/2009, 11:05 PM
Filed under: Poetry, Writing | Tags: , , ,

He has trained his eyes to freeze
And there is nothing more impenetrable
Or ambiguous.
The Titanic could sail through, but
It would sink again, gutted
Bow to stern by his gaze
And there would be a deafening
Noise as a smile cracked
Across his face.



Man on the Street
05/25/2009, 6:55 PM
Filed under: Poetry, Writing | Tags: , , ,

A wolf’s lope—that was how he walked
and it wasn’t quite
a walk. It was a stance and he stared
at the hot-dog-man as he passed by
                                    never bought
                                    fifty cents
                                                worth of shit
                        from no one

 Rattlesnake—that was the way
he glared at the slushie-stand-man
on his way to work
                                    give the cold
                                    shoulder
                        to people
                                                with cold hands
            done for good
 
A hacked-off tentacle—that was what
his scarf looked like in the city wind
writhing like a many-limbed predator
over his shoulder
he flung it back
            coiled
                        never trusted a damn
            soul with his words

Aluminum abyss—that was how he spoke



Unrequited Verse
05/25/2009, 6:18 PM
Filed under: Poetry, Writing

I wish poetry was a feeling,
Sloppy, wet, like you’ve just peed yourself
And it’s running down your legs,
Vivid against the light-wash denim
Like a dark blush of embarrassment
And  Oh no you didn’t.
Oh yes I did.

I wish poetry could leave you with a dry mouth and sore teeth,
The bottom of your tongue salty and burning like you just ate a spoonful of rock salt
And your lips dull-gray soft and split, empty as if there’s nothing left to say
 
I wish you could
Be in poetry
Like some people
Are in love
And a hug would be
A pencil in your
Hand,
A kiss would be
A line break.