Category: Poems
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messiah
i tried out to be the next messiah / but they said I had to believe in something / i’ve only been carving stakes out of dogwood / twisting mistletoe in arrows / no one comes to my sermons / since I can’t turn water to wine / my rapture is a bloody one /…
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mort du couer / sacre coeur
nothing is beautiful anymore not even my agony.
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abandoned vineyard
this Judas-place, this Garden. built and then forgotten, our own forsaken Eden. now the vines snake through shattered utility sheds, up rotting trestle, and across overgrown paths, bearing their sanguine fruit. – I press the blade of a knife against a stem, and it draws dirty red, a noose cut free, watering the ground with …
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(Poems) – 2023 resolutions
1. GO ON MORE WALKS 2. FIND THE ONE WORD THAT DESCRIBES ME 3. LISTEN TO THE VOICE OF THE CITY 4. TRADE MY PHONE FOR A RIDE ACROSS THE STYX 5. MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL 6. BE CEASELESS AND UNDIGESTIBLE 7. CUT THE HEADS OFF THE HYDRA AND BURN THE STUMPS SO…
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(Poems) – december
there’s little sensible about the sunset. why is it worth the effort? a death made meaningless by resurrection. like driving down the street to the next small town like it’ll be any different. america is a circle. this year died like the last. alone and dark, clinging to frostbitten holidays and burning books. lost december;…
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(Poems) september’s stillness
I put the bullet in my mouth (the bullet that is september), and I wait for it to go off. the metal is still warm from august, the taste getting heavier on the way: this is the best time of year, but what’s it worth? there have been better septembers and better years with better…
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(Poems) – planet of apathy
this just in: the acceptable quota of school children shot at their desks has been raised for the twentieth time in as many years. this just in: oceans are rising and the rain is acid and the air is poison. this just in: police budget raised for the continuation of federally-acceptable murder of people not…
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(Poems) – astronaut
is that a space helmet or a halo? god’s never been to the moon: he’s lost in the stars. maybe divinity is just forgetting. losing the earth for the sky, selling out to the void. maybe divinity is just apathy. the absence of a reason to look back.
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(Poems) – sleep need not apply
I’m tired of closing my eyes, just the same way I’m tired of bitter coffee and my own burning chest. the way I’m tired of losing time on dead end streets and in endless loops. the gps isn’t working and the maps are wrong. my words aren’t good enough and the paper comes double-edged. it…
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(Poems) – wet shoes
you can pick up your shoes between two fingers: a peace sign and follow me under the awning where we watch the driveway flood and we don’t complain when the wind blows the rain into our faces. it deserves it. it did so well. our lungs make room for the rain and glow like saints:…
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(Poems) – happiness
in the way that it is the most rotten fruit to swallow. in the way that it haunts me at night and kisses me in the morning. in the way that it sinks but I can still touch it so I sink with it. in the way that it hates to be written and loves…
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(Poems) – falling action
there’s red in the sunlight, i can taste it in my tongue: heavy and holy— i’m dying in the sunrise with hollowed bones but no wings. I never left my country, barely left my home. the morning burns my eyes, and it’s quiet here, alone.
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(Poems) – constellations
the best thing about the stars is that they aren’t watching us too. we drew the lines ourselves. god isn’t going to come down and set our aim true. there aren’t enough fingers to pull blame into a straight line. there isn’t another white man leading the earth on its revolution around the sun. or…
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(Poems) – a retrospective
it’s a selfish friend, unwilling to share, keen to flaunt. a golden memory of sunshine: cool to the touch. a first kiss in a parking lot: poisoned by what follows. the people you loved: memories recorded over. a home tinged with disinfectant. the one who betrayed you. the past has nothing to give but shattering…
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(Poems) – limbo
I’ve lost my way, but still found myself here. It’s a colorless, formless place. It creeps like fog, but it bites like fire. It consumes me like it wants me, like it needs me, and I’m too tired to refuse. I’ve lost the lines between who I was and who I want to be. Blood…
Sidorenko's Writing 