distant
town
your eyes cling on fences like morning glory
wide open, blink rapidly
you imagine magnificent birds and a rare emotion visits you
when in a distant town
police officers beat the hell
out of a Black teenager.
hollow
when evening comes
you take off your shirt
remove your skin
remove the cork from your chest
and let the air into the hollow
I inspect for a moment its darkness
I would give everything to enter like a ladybug,
a butterfly, a bud into the hollow of your chest
without fear that my dream gets
fossilized
subsistence
I had a long, sharp stick,
I walked in the parks piercing poems
which I piled in a plastic bag
till there was no more room
then I was waiting for clients on WhatsApp
idol
It was late when you told Dali
to leave his moustache alone,
you had a huge, melted apple project
who would have thought that you were secretly
telling the fortune from apple seeds
when with melting hands the alarm clock
was stealing my metrical foot
collage
you leaned over the railing to make sure he was there
then you ran up the stairs
leaning against the red brick wall
a naked woman was squatting
in a black and white poster
you wiped away her tears
you dried with your sleeve your wet eyelashes
behind a sculpture of a man
Giacometti ventured a smile
copyrighted by Getty images
Elena
Malec is a philologist by trade, poet and artist by choice. She has published
literary criticism, prose, poetry, essays, haiku, books of gourmet cooking,
ikebana, morimono, and art. She lives with her husband in Southern California
where she dedicates to painting, writing, making rag dolls, ikebana and haiku.
Her books can be found on Amazon. Her haiku and senryu is published in many
online journals.
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