by phillipw | Jan 5, 2020 | MT
M-theory I don’t believe in hell. In fact I think That if a place of retribution such As Dante conjured, filled with sulfurous stink And acid heat and flaming cold too much To bear exists, the place it occupies Throbs through some parallel, pained...
by phillipw | Jan 5, 2020 | AB
Viagra I want to be an abacá plant, not Because the carnal flower is lovely with Its central petals clasped there in the hot, Damp air to form a crushed white velvet pith As elegant as lychee flesh, nor yet Because this sexy glans is lacily...
by phillipw | Jan 5, 2020 | FU, SE
Self Definition, not the Usual— Opposition to Nostalgia Scito te ipsum I choose to think about my future self Instead of how it was when I was young. My personhood is not on childhood’s shelf, Nor is my personality the rung That I was...
by phillipw | Jan 5, 2020 | LO
Who Wants the Love of a Metallic Man? ……. Who wants the love of a metallic man? We all do. We desire a lover who Will offer us affection like the span Created by suspension bridges—true Devotion made of stainless steel and bolts— And...
by phillipw | Jan 3, 2020 | OC, SE
The Sea Spreads Out Her Skirt “But the sea, the sea in darkness calls” The sea spreads out her skirt of corduroy Silk. Saltiness and plushness made of wet Lush velvet rise up when she clasps the joy Of storms. Although she knows to play coquette At...
by phillipw | Jan 3, 2020 | HE
The Chambered Hermit Crab My heart is like a hermit crab. It drags Itself around the graveyard ocean floor And looks for justice, love, and mercy, snags Abandoned shells—and settles for Protection. Pulling vunlerable parts Inside an empty sepulcher of lime, The...
by phillipw | Jan 3, 2020 | CA, GL
New Use for a Hive Tool https://images.app.goo.gl/TWPvPDBoGjhcxmJLA I cannot recommend an afternoon In bee yards—sun, sweat, stink of carbolic Fumes, not to mention hotness of harpoon Stings, each delivering vitriolic Intensity of hatred, or the stench Of burned...
by phillipw | Jan 3, 2020 | LO, SA
Dessicated Wounds Our ancient poets often whisper in Slivers only, as dumb as crescent moons, But then are hardly mute. The centuries’ sin Is degradation of their voices. Dunes Against destruction have been washed across The manuscripts and yet now only glints And...
