Provocative: i.e. Guns Kill People

The soft tanned hump

Cut by a thin strip of black fabric

Peeks out from under a tank top.

The strap trails down under the shirt.

Suggestive. Accidental or a set-up?

He doesn’t know, but he assumes.

He assumes wrong.

 

Pale thin legs stretch up and up

Until the denim cuts them off

Just across the thigh under the bouncing cheeks.

It draws his eye as if words were scrawled there.

His sister wears words there sometimes,

Not that he looked or anything.

 

A cocktail dress clings to the curves,

Every smooth transition highlighted.

He gets lost in the hills and valleys

With eyes that devour,

That burn through like the ends of cigarettes.

He assumes that’s love.

He’s wrong.

Slashing Skin

Collected behind the frosty glass

Frozen snippets of the past.

Pick one up and hold it tight.

Climb inside it for the night.

Pop the pills. Embrace the pain.

Keep the memories. What’s to gain?

 

One by one they start to fall

Clearing space along the wall.

One by one they all escape

Curling up and losing shape.

One by one you let them go

These people that you used to know.

 

The Student: The Machine

When industrious is complimentary

When standardized is the norm

When sitting for hours is common

When writing in perfect form

Students merge with technology

The goal: a perfect machine

Learning to be the same

Where anything else is obscene

Public education

Only one talent’s correct

Grades over innovation

Public school’s main defect