Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Unseen’

“The Darkroom of the Body”

– Lea Deschenes   Whatever’s developing is likely to remain sealed below   the skin’s great projection screen until it’s finally done   marinating in chemicals that will either decipher it   as the amazing answer to a litany of unasked questions   or expose it as yet another reminder   of that time I jackknifed the tractor while backing-up a load of hay   and sliced the tubeless tire […]

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They came upon some bones in the forest. She saw them first in the shadows and thought they were ferns forcing up fiddleheads from a bed of leaves. But he saw them first for what they were, bones of a small creature. It looked like some carnivores had shared a meal. Hollows clawed from decaying leaves told a story of a tragic scene unseen.   He was a police officer […]

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Syndromes and Lies

Once, it was glorious — lithe, flowing, carnal, capricious. So effortless, moving with abandon and finding fault with hips and lips and hair and thighs now mourned.   Watching through eyelid slits as charts become tomes of words and terms and treatments that are hard to bear, but for the alternative.   Contemporaries arm themselves with creams and steams and fillers to smooth grin crinkles, instead of saline streambeds and […]

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I am sick. Not the dying sick, but the perpetually sick, the we-can-help-you-manage-your-pain-but-we-can’t-cure-you sick. I need a lot of bloodwork and my phlebotomist calls me Momma.   But I never felt that primal need some other women have, the urge to grow children inside and deliver them to the world.   I am a Teacher, and a good one. I help dry tears and give advice and attend youth sporting […]

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Love Song on Longwave

Boxed here, her room, fruit punch served as breakfast, no TV, bad reception, books on architecture, more on trees, runes, in dust. The mattress, as ever, unshaped to my skin, bones; and so the pain goes, comes in waves.   Now the radio, its waves, long and lonely, and she and I in every note. Each point, the scan finds some instrument, some aria, far flung, from the far reaches […]

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            [part of The Fixer series]   I’ll come through later, sweep the scene clean. You’ll be safe in South America by the time they sound the alarm. That’s the professional service ethic to expect when you hire the Quicker Picker Upper. It’s the forest primeval out there. Society’s reverting to a brutal state of nature. So find your fortune, cash out, set up in a country that is skeptical […]

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