"We Are All Upset and Talented"
Our banner fell from slanted rooftops:
frayed fabric, clay tiles (clothing, lodging).
I guess I like to break stuff—as long as you don’t mind
sexy sista tripping past love(ly) trays, gasps,
flutters, strays, pulls the glass
from her teeth, then shudders, drops in shards
on feet underneath. And away,
away we go to lick
the grease from the deep fryers.
Nothing could ever haunt me—as dangerously,
no, not a form as subtle as the closet’s shadow
but louder than the shouts of July
on that amaranthine summer’s night. Everything’s better
with absinthe (wormwood) twinged
with the value(less) vomit of other people’s words.
Fine then. I can carry the weight (wait!)
of the world’s sarcasm alone.
by the ENG 403 Poetry Class at Chapman University. Lovely job guys!
The Lonely Alchemist