Alexis Pope

Silence The Trap 

Notebook  paper   fallen from  the  train / bridge  / nightheaving.    He  sighed  out  the halo.
Coated,    armed with the   moleskin.   Pocket-sized ambivalence. I did it all for you he  says.
Means might have. Water stains this way. Brief over the river.  Enough time to return a  text,
consider Jane’s Carousel. Reins through my jaw. Dreamed about rats last night. One rat. In
our hallway. A man says He got in through the front door.

Older   creatures,    emptied  or shut up.   Fasten  myself to  his  twin,  bull.   Hole  in  my  boot
growing.  What let in.   Much  affection,  not a bullet left in the bouquet.  Twizzle  thumbs, his
hand opened which means. Coke spoon. Vile of pasteled sand. Wear the necklace, shape his
brows with silver. A holiday of pills. Nothing left to perforate.  

Second  Notice.   Fine haired girl.  Patron of  product placement.    His features dried to a leaf.
Salutations   in  a   systematic  goodbye note.    What torn and who.  Put  the  couch  away this
morning.  I mean  the  bed,   what  was  left.   Took my scarf from the storage container. Lock it
behind you he says. 

 

QUIET LESION

It’s not a choice
What we do in sleep
Mercy killing

3:06 A sprout of yellow 
Crowding the person
You don’t love

Emptying of thought
Can’t get to it all 
In one session 

How do you like it 
On top or from 
Wrist pressed flat

Your snow of tongue
Forgot 
To shave my legs

Today less air pressure 
In my job search
More realism

In my twelve dollar 
Milkshake my glut 
Money spends better 

Than if I aged my skin with labor
I age my skin w/ labor
Every day 

New death certificates 
Print Monday
On my throat 

Fill out the paperwork 
An earthy sheen
Without reading

Never done my research
Under your tongue
How remorse tastes 

Like fennel I imagine
The bottom of my love
Returns each morning

With the toast
Serenity blend plus honey wait
For enough flavor 

Center my hips
For the work
KitchenAid Stand Mixer

Identity depends upon
Health benefits
An extra two hundred

To burn the death in
A vintage shade of blue
Non-working fireplace

Oh hi beautiful little dark
My tea / my ritual
Movement in my chest

Reminds me  
A track pad developed 
For my particular pressure

Sensory details
I trace the Google map 
Of how I got here

Little girls / whirling their skirts 
About / until they stand flat
So this weight in my belly 

Explains I am a woman 
Above the fridge
Now there is nothing 

You can steal from me
Containers with possible
Use someday a hand searching

My skirt for follicles 
Leftovers: another box
Inside there sits a threat

Of odor in this cab ride 
Growing older as the fare 
It’s a little magic trick

The lover taken against
A wall / mauve flowers
Liter box of wine holding

Myself against a stranger
On the Q   
Pole between us

Velocity of coming
To a halt
Don’t tell me

I was never very good
At Monopoly only Sorry
So things are pretty 

Much the same
Only this body 
Of water is dying

Or is dead 
Already a constant
Drip to the flood

Clue underneath 
This part of me 
I’ve never fully owned