Three Poems
Philip Schaefer
Let’s go back to the twin indigo suns/ in our eyes. To shooting holes/ through the walls of our skin, one/ metal kiss at a time...
Let’s go back to the twin indigo suns/ in our eyes. To shooting holes/ through the walls of our skin, one/ metal kiss at a time...
Come closer reader, please,
I didn’t mean to insult you.
I’ll let you punch me
right in my asking face.
The full moon may strike you
dumb and limp and lost
when bat readies to encounter ball
and you hit it high as the moon--
still the ump declares, You’re out!
before you’ve moved a step from home.
There’s no TV or radio here, so it’s only later we hear that our guys lost big
at home on Blake Street
I would go back now, though, live in the nervous fidget
before I said I like you & kissed her braces
with my upper lip & bled all over her teeth.
There is something about listening
To a baseball game on the radio
each pitch lost in the peripheral blink of an eye
I’m hoarse and feverish. We sing in the streets, “Feelin’ good was good enough for me, hee hee,” but then the breakfast booth only has two seats.
I wear a velvet piece to the therapist’s office and she asks me to close my eyes. We agree to experience an illusion of me dancing...
I can’t stop watching teenage boys eat shit at the skate park.
It gives me real pleasure.
Every time I walk to the library
I pass my old friend’s house
who doesn’t live there,
or anywhere anymore.
Once a year I decide
I don't love you. It's
today. Watch me
not make you breakfast.
The child is only
this flesh I grew
and you tore
out of me.
Now it stirs in the
I've seen my friend Taylor sleeping
mouth open sometimes, one time with a boner
Whenever I've awoken him, he has
acknowledged my presence immediately
and put his hand in the
To love is to understand
the tsunami--
that it's just a thing the sea does
when it's been too long
missing the
but that's all about to change. My murder ballads, well, they prefer to terrify. I want to talk more about titular heroes. About what it means to kiss a goose. I mean, kill a goose. I want to do
Is this new relationship self-sabotage in disguise, or is it the cure?
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Not be be missed!