"I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..."

POETRYrepairs v08.01:003

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RAGE, JANUARY 4 [it starts] armada of viciousness ice knife words. You know those mornings, one word does it. His friends, his mess. Inside my blood, a black flower blooms, such broad spiked leaves I can't breathe 2. It starts with cat poop in the bathroom, starts with his verbs of knives, a look. You know the way one or 2 things, a bottle of pills on the floor, the sheet pulled too far from your side sets you up for more shit 3. he leaves, a rash of viciousness, thick smoke I can't breathe in. I can't let go, each grenade, closer to its target. One phone call to his machine won't do it Like all wars, dark wreckages blooming from what's already a shell of itself copyright LYN LIFSHIN

"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."

poetryREpairs v08.01:003

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THICKER THAN FOG these blues camouflage and blur, last longer. Too warm for January. Wild apricot buds only to be slashed with ice. She says he treats her like a princess and I squirm. Unreal. She is those buds, opening too fast, mis- taking this fake warmth for what will leave her 2. these blues on a day of forty octaves in B flat, a minor key day, a blue ice washed fog. It's a blue galaxy on the metro, think of that when the car cobalt stains your finger nails and the cat vomits her own blues 3. these blues camouflage and blur, last longer. Too warm for January. Wild apricot buds only to be slashed with ice. She says he treats her like a princess and I squirm. Unreal. She is those buds, opening too fast, mis- taking this fake warmth for what will leave her ruined copyright LYN LIFSHIN

"Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!"

poetryrePAIRs v08.01:003

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"FINALLY GOT SOME WHISTLES" in a tattered high school diary. I know it's not PC but I'm asking you, does a little "wow" hurt? I'd like it better than being asked barely over 30 if you want a senior discount or have a woman your own age offer you a metro seat? "Finally got some whistles," August 4, Cape Cod. After days of rain, a relief. It must have been in it says a lavender dress and earrings. No matter my mother wouldn't let me actually go out with the boys I met. "3 cute guys" it says on the next page and "Hell," after the definite no I couldn't go. Listen, do you really think it's demeaning, harassment if some one just looks? Words like a loving tongue. I'm not talking about something creepy in the alley at night but that look leather pants (unlike sweats) always get me, a reminder, if even not 30, someone's noticed my long legs, huge eyes. A whistle, a "baby," doesn't have to mean anyone wants anything more than the sun on the back of my neck, lilacs brushing my skin with a sweetness. I forgot I remembered how my thighs are strong, my breasts against cotton. "Baby, baby," for once not blues but an air kiss that reminds me I'm alive and I should be glad that someone else sees this copyright LYN LIFSHIN

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poetryrepairs v08.01:003

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