Category: poetry

love song

A poem about a country crush.

why would you want me?

there’s lots of boys like me in the city,
with my hair and my ambiguous tattoos –
a flair,
in an otherwise-mediocre affair.

“oh but i do, i do!” she cries
while we lay side-by-side,
“there is only one you!”
here, maybe –
now –
but where will your pristine heart really dare you to tread?
tomorrow? a year from now?
enough time to build a family –
a life,
only to have it torn from your grasp for spite

because i am one of a million
and you’re just a country girl.
one day you will wake up
and i still won’t be good enough for you.

//jf 6.16.2021

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wrecked

A poem about a beauty with an ugly heart.

i saw a monster today.

walking among us –
her profile in view,
she confronted me like divinity –

a crack split down the center of her dark-skinned face

and all the blood came rushing back,
scarred by time –
dreamless.
a body to take you there
but eyes that bring you back.

i am urged to ignore her
so i leave her alone,
trying to escape the power she casts
when she stares back at me half-mast.

//jf 6.2.2021

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shellfish

A poem.

what do you mean i don’t come on anyone’s authority?
you Sir catechize in impossibilities!
a list of people who know me,
systematically,
who would speak efficaciously
re: me?
preposterousity!
while alternately, you could accept me at the length of my extended goatee.

∼ lengthy exhale ∼
but if we must to win your trust,
then let us descend into the chancery,
unpedantically –

mind the leads,

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getting trane’d

A poem about perception.

I have only ever been good for two things.
no matter like the valles of Mars
my thew twists in to canyons,
veins like rivers running red through them.
a walking fucking island.
when is it over?
when can i stop?
when daylight and i drop.

i chew gum to stop me from chewing my warts
and my nails are broken in two.
ive only ever been good for two things,
when you look close enough and the cracks start to show
but youre always too busy with your rebute.
when it it over?
when do you stop?
when an island becomes a mountain
and daylight and i drop.

//jf 3.28.2021

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sting is his own worst yoko ono

A poem.

art is sabotage.

what are we really like, beneath
our own justification?
what rationale does one have
to corner the written word like water
or oil?
where do we stand outside the issues?
not within reach
but beyond?

“excuses excuses,
all you give me is excuses.”
then give me a reason.

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