Friday, April 9, 2010

Challenge Day 3

Some poems.

Riding The Green Line

The woman on the train has ash for elbows. Pockets for teeth, bags for skin, and I want her. I want to sit in the caves etched into her gums. The puss cocooning me a mothers womb. I want to listen to her stories of a city I do not know. If I walk to her will she hold me? Swing me? Whisper? My body memorialized in a blanket of her ash.

Frozen in the grotesque glee of discovering her smell is almost mine.

The train yard

I thought I could paint the world a heaven.

But mine is a world where lines do not meet, color suffocates in rust

my canvases are always moving, my heart is a can of paint.

We sit with city draped across our shoulders and trust

that in the shadows of freight yards our lips will giggle

like swing sets. But lips never meet. Our blush fades with rain.

The train moves before I am finished:

how could I have believed we would be safe

inside the lights orange glow?

Now we are homeless and hunted.

I want to love you inside orange glow

but the world is never as safe as shadows

and I cannot make lines meet or colors breathe.

Heaven is no place for shadows.

And you are always moving, my heart is a rusted can.

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