Cx72 Poetry: Elaine Kahn
October 17, 2017

I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK

Only the visceral
Shit spreading from the crease
the gemstone cold
I fondled them
Value based and oiling
like witches and as earthly
God
too sick from
I remember
later like a badge
and even I had an erection
What to make of that

PARADISE IS A MIND BLOWING YOU

Fate is immoral
it dumps on you
and you do not explore
it’s bad
as I wish you were
a ceiling or
a geode
dump me
when I look at you
from every care
I cannot wait
until I die
I should have said
but would not let you touch it
or deny
the grip of vanity
each time
you said
your talents
make me sad
and when the night
solidifies like toilets
I’m affirmed

ROMANCE

It breaks the muscle
and voids the temple
and the stomach
and is diurnal

IRISH SPRING

Has nothing to do
with the Irish
or the Spring

Has everything to do
with every

Men cry on my stomach

All my life
I've only wanted someone
to tell me a story
about myself
that I could believe

It is never right
to hug them after

ROMANCE

If someone wants you
they’re a man

I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK

The innocents all dress the same
Their mouths open
Their mouths close
They flush and bleed and wonder where they are

Happy to be leaving
Hesitant and
unprepared for the departure
when it comes to them
like penicillin

Are you pinching yourself?
What I want
and how I want it
That is what they told me
They were right
Skin is just like fabric
All violence
is in defense of something

I lay on my back and wish
I do that now

I wish for good things, all the good, good things
Why not

Fabric rolls out like a cloud of paint
A moan into a square of gauze

I don’t know
and so I write about it

I care about life
and the ones who never say a thing

We are in the hands of providence
who is unqualified

There are those who would protect us
from the possibility of good

*

Originally published in I Told You I Was Sick: A Romance, pub. 2017 by AFTER HOURS LTD. Available for purchase here.