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Onionskin
we are worn so clear
impossible papers fasting
alone with a match
Poemas sobre el tema: match
Poemas sobre el tema «match» en Poets.by.
In praise of fire
who is against fire
besides books
it is sand on the back
a kiss in the dark
nothing but the opinion
of a match
or a masquerade
where antique dresses dance
Match maker
I sing the head of a match
that ingenious red tune
it merits a good anthem
sung to the trumpet
o wing of my being
sweet evening prayer
Quest
I am a madman
at war with my doubts
the door open
I knock three or four times
and talk alone at church
like a letter to a match
Reaction
Raw, I answer with war:
another foot coming
for another me
in the night, my private match
like a mouth made clean
against tomorrow.
Book Match
Back when I smoked, as the son of a writer
& a librarian, the book match
was like a brother to me.
Once torn from the book
it couldn’t go back, while smoking made me
an exile from the air.
We both had a tendency to lose our heads.
I was skinny as a heron’s leg;
a book match isn’t even thick enough
to qualify as a match stick.
It’s a minimal page
with just enough room for one word
beginning with a lower-case L
& ending with incandescence—
a holy word, a profane word,
a word for (forgive me) a kind of match.
Determination
I didn’t write this poem to your overshirts & oversized tennis shoes,
Glinting masculine pride & promise.
I didn’t write this poem to admire your curved cheekbones,
Underlining eyes crowded with time, loss, & sleeplessness.
I didn’t write this poem to cause you to call me
And tell me in your DeNiro voice you want my company.
I didn’t write this poem to cause you to text me
Sweet half-threats of tender licentiousness.
I didn’t write this poem to ease your heartache,
Longing for another woman,
Yet another who got away.
I didn’t even write this as an ode to the most brazen creature
I know, a slight female with the
Scariest demeanor in three countries,
A keen eye out for every menace,
Including myself,