(no subject)
Here are some damn poems. I'm thinking of submitting them to Coraddi for consideration for the spring issue.
***
INTIMACY PROBLEMS.
5 October 2007
A small, purpura chain of island keys
Discreet, deliberate on the dark side of a moon.
I discovered it today in the distancing glass.
A reminder --
I pull my white lab coat to cover me.
***
POEM FOR THE NEW YEAR
21 January 2008
The morning, a new snake,
the papery skin of the old year in a corner
of the kitchen
of your apartment
(itself, a new place).
I, too, ought to have crumpled myself and been discarded
with the beer cans, red plastic cups, cigarette butts,
and the old old skin of the old year.
I was terrified.
Your silence was Everest. I determinedly scaled the height.
Your speech, finally uncorked, a fever.
The conversation, sweet treasured red
after a month of “Hi, my name is Steph Rahl, and I'm an”
We seemed to teem and flow together, in the expected way.
Social lubricants make for great mistakes.
Afterward, I recall thinking, it would have been less awkward had someone thrown up.
***
PARTY POEM
4 February 2008
Approaching the party house, we're bombarded by noise.
It roars sullenly through the paper-thin walls and fake clapboards.
Cram in the door. I check myself in the hall mirror.
Wanted: that just-tossed-on-but-cute effect.
Wanted: more dude-ly nonchalance than onlookers can fathom.
I've been well-schooled in late evenings.
I'm not a geologist, but I still rock.
You get me?
Hand that Yuengling Light here, son. Time to launch.
The music bawls. Indie-tastic kids sling their hips and shriek for their songs.
The cool bitter buzz of the beer
lifts the separating plastic-wrap between myself and the thudding room.
A cigarette, but then
a boy corners me in the back of the house.
I can't comprehend him.
The music shouts.
Two-thirty. I'm drunk as shit right now and yes, I dig on Pavement,
yes. I have a dear ambition,
yes. I am hurling myself forward many miles fast
I yelp
yes.
***
POEM IN WHICH I WALK OUTSIDE.
13 February 2008
Bodies splayed on the lawn snap suddenly to life.
There's that fat red target on my chest, again.
I wish a solitude of words and paper.
I wish a friendship of my cold phantom limb.
I struggle to hold a pen without my thumb.
I barely throw the ball of conversation.
Don't stare. I am not board, but thought and gut.
Don't tense. Equilibrium must be restored.
***
Thoughts?
***
INTIMACY PROBLEMS.
5 October 2007
A small, purpura chain of island keys
Discreet, deliberate on the dark side of a moon.
I discovered it today in the distancing glass.
A reminder --
I pull my white lab coat to cover me.
***
POEM FOR THE NEW YEAR
21 January 2008
The morning, a new snake,
the papery skin of the old year in a corner
of the kitchen
of your apartment
(itself, a new place).
I, too, ought to have crumpled myself and been discarded
with the beer cans, red plastic cups, cigarette butts,
and the old old skin of the old year.
I was terrified.
Your silence was Everest. I determinedly scaled the height.
Your speech, finally uncorked, a fever.
The conversation, sweet treasured red
after a month of “Hi, my name is Steph Rahl, and I'm an”
We seemed to teem and flow together, in the expected way.
Social lubricants make for great mistakes.
Afterward, I recall thinking, it would have been less awkward had someone thrown up.
***
PARTY POEM
4 February 2008
Approaching the party house, we're bombarded by noise.
It roars sullenly through the paper-thin walls and fake clapboards.
Cram in the door. I check myself in the hall mirror.
Wanted: that just-tossed-on-but-cute effect.
Wanted: more dude-ly nonchalance than onlookers can fathom.
I've been well-schooled in late evenings.
I'm not a geologist, but I still rock.
You get me?
Hand that Yuengling Light here, son. Time to launch.
The music bawls. Indie-tastic kids sling their hips and shriek for their songs.
The cool bitter buzz of the beer
lifts the separating plastic-wrap between myself and the thudding room.
A cigarette, but then
a boy corners me in the back of the house.
I can't comprehend him.
The music shouts.
Two-thirty. I'm drunk as shit right now and yes, I dig on Pavement,
yes. I have a dear ambition,
yes. I am hurling myself forward many miles fast
I yelp
yes.
***
POEM IN WHICH I WALK OUTSIDE.
13 February 2008
Bodies splayed on the lawn snap suddenly to life.
There's that fat red target on my chest, again.
I wish a solitude of words and paper.
I wish a friendship of my cold phantom limb.
I struggle to hold a pen without my thumb.
I barely throw the ball of conversation.
Don't stare. I am not board, but thought and gut.
Don't tense. Equilibrium must be restored.
***
Thoughts?