Skinny Legions #1 // a tiny book of poetry // 26pgs // 2015
email me your address and i’ll send you a copy
you’ll notice the flowers; they’re for you
in my vague future house, there is a corner
table for my neuroses. above, life hangs
guiltily, a portrait of something now forgotten,
administering boredom by titration.
the names of familiars, both foreign
and strange, decorate the space.
the lights are saturated in desolation;
mirrors replace windows; i’m told
it’s what’s inside that counts.
guests are want to note the walls aren’t white
– a reminder of original sin. the telephone
has too many hangups to be used. an unruly
fireplace admits few homilies; the table is
upset by its tortured gymnastics; the chair by
its lack of prominent routine.
by the sink lie the recently washed up;
a thin clock spits at the wall. the loose
leaves of a calendar amount to nothing,
a life turned into coasters and second-rate cladding.
my dimmer switch lives
in the fridge, next to things
which may have once sustained me.
listen closely and you’ll hear the susurrations
of your own tired processes, haunting
the single bed where your legs are
an unhinged bible.