make the grade? Say, "Aye" to the
to work up to it with brooding.
project of your mis-labelled life,
You can see how tough it is
Paduasoy
and row your little boat forward
to master the art of self-loathing.
Curtains, napkins, tablecloth, dress
into the grey-backed drudgery
Don't take someone like Nietzsche
wicks up red wine, repels dripped wax.
we call "mankind", whipping the swirl
so lightly next time you see him.
of your gin with an impaled olive,
Be kind to Rimbaud, stop taking
What's good for the bridesmaid is good
jiving and tugging at your sleeves
those snapshots of Oscar and Britney.
for the rest. Candlemas, table grapes
like the crisp fold of a mislaid
They only like the attention
love-letter. Of course we drink.
for the way it hollows them out,
We forget. It takes only inches.
leaving a space for the poison,
crĂŞpe de chine best. Puffy-sleeved, hourglass, empire waist. Bustier,
a reason to ball saliva up under the tongue, and test the wind.
nosegay, v-line velvet vest. Sunset
Misquoting Samuel Johnson
over Vegas in an orange mini-dress.
Nothing focuses the mind. Nothing focuses like nothing.
Ritual, flirtation veil, awkward guest.
The mind, like a hanging.
Tissue held close to the bride's mum's chest.
Nothing focuses a hanging like those of sound mind. Focus the mind. Nothing.
Happy Hour
In focus, nothing minds.
Of course we drink to forget.
Hang the focused mind.
And is not death the final amnesia?
Hang nothing. Hangnail.
Lap up the black water of Lethe, kiss
Nothing. Focus. Nothing.
away the dreamless hours, drowning
Three Poems by Dawnell Harrison
Orange glass sun Under a gun metal sky the turtle doves filter down filament by filament as dust falls from their wings and they land in the wheat fields where the orange glass sun glints its rays. The moon divorces the sky You brush me aside like leaves in the back yard as the white meat
two fingers at a time. It takes only inches, says the magician
That's Not Rain
behind the bar, who stops our heart
Well, here I am again, with myself
with a white bird in one sleeve,
ready to argue, or spit. Can you
diamond queen in the other. Is that
spit in your own eye? It takes
your trick, turning into another man's
some practice, no doubt, this much
invisible woman for awhile? Is that
self-disdain, not to mention
as if they breathe and live you are simply vanishing beneath a wordless night.
your joke, a chorister's drone,
a firm grasp on the law of gravity,
Pillars of my brain
the low, persistent energy of sound?
some understanding, even, of
Is this your plan, to heckle the
hydrodynamics, good aim, quick
peanuts and line the tip jar
reflexes, and plenty of time
like a canoe draped in otter pelts? Have you done the numbers? Can you
of the moon divorces the sky and lays its translucent light over a veil of purple fog. I cannot pick up thoughts of you
I have sewn the doors shut in the pillars of my brain as thoughts gather and drift off in a cloud of conflicting needs that spin in a vermillion wave off the corners of my mind.