from “Lonesome Poem”

from “Lonesome Poem”

By Ross Robbins

Until clouds turn
black. Drizzle ink
burn holes through
Until the drips
of graffiti join
hands, crumble

      the city

           of petal
    or sliver
of plant
                  what flower
                  is offered
                         to you
the world
         gets soft
         gets cool
         gets gone


Sweet as hair. Fizzy as wet glass.
Bleeding on a school bus. Buttery
like a fat woman’s heart. Not some
self-same suck maid. Erotic like

soccer socks. Needy like a rich man.
Gentle like a weird hat. Sensible
like a scar. In the event of an
emergency. Soft-spoken like
a metal thermos in the hands of a boy
with dark brown hair. Trying real hard
to come to a point. Insinuating nothing,
but meaning everything. Show me
how you touch yourself. Private as milk.
It’s been a while since your last haircut.
Your neck is furry. I’d make your neck wet.

someone’s rolled
the tobacco out
from mostly-smoked
butts, left the black-
edged papers on the floor
of the bus. Again, tonight
I will sleep alone.


The city is
grey in its
choking of green

I went to a park
where the grass
was stone

On my back
all the clouds
were countries

Without a name
I am just
a body

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