Ode to an Everyday Poet
I remember the night she left.Her dress, nightgown, brush. How each quivered in your handswhen you lifted them from a hospital-scented suitcase,replaced hers with mine.A silent drive followed.Me too small to ask questions.You wordless in your guilt. Her cousin’s wife’s sister took me that first time.Held me tight, my heels drumming her skirt, fists beating her arms,while you walked away.Raising a little girl…It wasn’t something you could do.It wasn’t something I allowed you to let go.Every time you handed me off, I believed you back.Sometimes it took months, but you always came. Memories rub like sandget under my skinin my eyes.Your voice still with me,filling a lifetime of hours with…
Open-Carry: Unzipping the Metaphors
Warning: This poem contains no language that can’t be used on prim time T.V. but it discusses the subject in a way that will make people uncomfortable. That’s the point. It’s also the point that what I say will get censored while flaunting guns in shops and restaurants has more legal protection than my right to protest. But if frank language about terrorists and muderers upsets you, don’t read further. He spent the morning photographing his penis collection,lining them up on the table getting just right glint of light on the contoursand dramatic angle of cast shadows. He did a selfie with two supersoak repeaters strapped across his chest. Another…
Binary Man
Like frozen embers spit from a fireLike snow in a desertThey’re an impossible merger Flesh heart synced to beating algorithm Liquid crystal eyes lockedOn shared solitude Solitary companionshipImpossible mergedForged in a pixel fire. There’s no happy ending waiting.No magic to make him realShe doesn’t want real She wants him. ~Nara Malone I read an article about a guy who was growing a friendship with a scripted digital girl in a game. He talked about her like she was better than real. The male in these pictures is Rob, a digital man I made as part of research for a story. I guess that makes him an object, a thing. He…