You decided to teach yourself
how to flip pancakes
until the kitchen and the cat
and you and me were covered in batter,
until you whooped in joy, cheering
in excitement, dropped your one success.
Category Archives: Poetry
To Keep The Gloom At Bay
To keep the gloom at bay:
laugh every day.
Laugh a Herman Munster laugh.
Laugh a colorful painting laugh.
Laugh a marshmallow sugar laugh.
Laugh at your own jokes.
Laugh at mine.
Laugh until your ribs are so full and aching
there’s no room for the wolf under them.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
The Ways You Love
You love like this: a headfirst love, an outright love,
a vigilant, attentive love,
a stubborn love, a headstrong love. You love
the way I have always wanted to be loved:
with all of your insides and with all of your outsides,
you love with your careful fingers;
you are always untangling the tangles of me.
These Are The Colors Of Your Love
These are the colors of your love: your lips
part from my mouth flush claret, your teeth beneath
my ear clip pearl, your hands wander blue
beneath my clothes. Your voice is citrine and daffodil,
your skin scours blush by desire’s rag,
you peak and shudder through saffron and indigo;
you give me a palette of lights and ask me to paint.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
My Mouth, Your Mouth
We kiss,
my stomach
full of seashells
and saltwater,
my mouth a cavern
where coelacanth and nautilus
tell secrets of the origin of the earth,
my mouth a living fossil,
your mouth a storm.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
Your Face
I think I will paint over
your face, or cut it out,
or scribble it over
with crayon or pen.
I think I will scratch it off
with the edge of a penny
even though the only prize
beneath is not seeing it
again.
I think I will burn it,
with a match or a cigarette,
out of every picture
I have with you in it
until the albums are full of me
posing with little ovals of ash
by the fountain at
Cole Park,
at the restaurant
where I asked you
your name.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
Location, Location, Location
I could have kissed you
under cherry blossoms,
pale petals drifting down
like the trees wanted to pretend
they could be snowclouds.
I could have kissed you
in the rain, drenched to our bones
and not even caring
that the skies opened up above us
and tried to wash us out.
I could have kissed you
in a clearing in the most secluded woods,
with just the sound of wind
rustling through the leaves
and a few voyeuristic finches
peeping at us.
Instead, I kissed you
in the parking lot of a Waffle House,
just shy of 2 a.m.
in the middle of a hectic week,
with our waitress grinning at us
from the other side of the window,
because, honestly, how could I not?
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
A Love To Die For
Darling,
in the event of a zombie apocalypse,
I’m gonna marry you.
I know, that romantic testimonial
isn’t quite the matrimonial proposition
you were expecting,
but I’m projecting a lovely future for us!
You see, when the dead break free,
I’ll come save you.
I’ll be your knight in shining Kevlar,
your cranium-crushing crusader,
and safe in our barricaded bungalow,
we’ll match moans for groans
with the shambling horde outside.
We’ll make love ’til death do we part,
or at least til we start
to run out of supplies,
and if we get in a pinch,
I’ve got a surprise:
see, I’ll paralyze them with poetry,
’cause if there’s anything
a zombie understands, it’s desire.
Meanwhile,
you lay down suppressive fire
and we’ll take out as many as we can.
If in the end we are overrun,
I’ll let them take me
so you can get away.
They can have my brain–
it’s my heart that beats for you.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
Ink
It’s not about the words, but the ink,
Blue and black in vibrant splotches,
Like bruises beneath skin
Victimized by hammering fists.
I want to plunge my arms into inkwells,
Into pools of lightstealing black,
And pour it over my body until I am
Enjambed with the stains of my skin
And only my eyes peer out.
I want to tilt my head towards heaven,
Pen upturned, and binge myself
Until my tongue and teeth are inundated,
Saturated as I am with ink.
I want to fill my belly,
Bloat and grow to bursting,
Paint the world with myself
Until only my ink remains.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
Beautiful Like…
STOP!
Right there.
I want to remember this image
for the rest of my life.
I want to remember the shape of
your thighs clamped tight around mine,
the shine of your tangled hair,
the sheen of the impassioned sweat
on your slender, outstretched arms,
and the gleam of the blade
on that really big knife you’re holding.
Just stop,
because I’ve got to tell you something:
you’re beautiful.
And I don’t mean run-of-the-mill
girl-next-door kind of beautiful
You are stunningly, terrifyingly,
shock-and-awe beautiful.
You are beautiful like
bullet tracers over Fallujah are beautiful,
beautiful like the thousand shapes and colors
swimming in your vision
after a too-soon flashbang
in a Baghdad bakery are beautiful.
Beautiful like the grenade at your feet
still has the pin is beautiful,
beautiful like the bullet that kissed your dog tags
and only went halfway through is beautiful,
beautiful like the bullet that kissed your throat
and went all the way through is beautiful.
Beautiful like the bright instruments of a British medic
in a field camp hospital clamping your veins,
and stitching your flesh, and saving your life are beautiful.
Beautiful like three bags of
Type O negative blood are beautiful.
Stop.
Right there.
I want to remember this image for the rest of my life,
like I’ll remember the image
of you stepping out of a C-130 transport plane,
and realizing that when they told me
they never leave one behind,
they didn’t mean they wouldn’t leave a few pieces.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful
like the edges of the broken pieces
of a celebratory wine bottle,
glittering like razor wire all across
the earthtone tablecloth are beautiful.
You are beautiful like the stares of people in Wal-mart
when the bang of a box sliding off a shelf
puts you screaming on the floor are beautiful.
You are beautiful like nightmares are beautiful.
You are beautiful like
“Honey, Mommy might be a little different when she gets back.”
“That’s okay. I’ll still love her, Daddy” is beautiful.
I’ll still love you, baby.
We’ll get you the help you need,
but you need to give me the knife.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.