the light in my kitchen.

the light in my kitchen.

A Poem by h d e rushin

 

 

 

The white moon, even thru the pollutant

is efflorescence the first time.

 

The second time it's inapplicably small

to nettle the suitor, snug in their drawer beds/

 

an argonaut colander poses with the float of ribbon and sevres

then looses it's mache handle like an airplane made of crumbs.

 

I smile a season of beesting like parturition

a toothless, tiny grebe wth my lobed toes.

 

As a little boy, I assigned genders to forks and spoons.

The fork was a married woman, making mistakes each

 

minute with the cake in her hair; bare striped like electric

wire.

Do tell the yarn spin to stop, stop

 

the plume mascara, vertically stacked brown on a black lash,

the tide is a near miss, aluminum jell as earrings of napalm

 

to burn, burn the little necks in their prune canticle worship.

The spoon was always a good and honest man.

 

The butter knife, so brave, made birthmarks on a wavy coat

but little else. The babys spoon was a good genie

 

though in her pornographic, low blouse aroused the old men, then portioned out

 

her green sex like a soup made of frogs

and cloth flavoring.

 

Dear Santa:

grant me another wish.

© 2012 h d e rushin


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

117 Views
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on November 9, 2012
Last Updated on November 9, 2012

Author

h d e rushin
h d e rushin

detroit, MI



About
black american poet living in detroit. more..

Writing
Short- Short-

A Poem by h d e rushin