Timber licks the sun drenched comma parade
wow wee father breathes, child swing hold onto me
eat the calls we freed the cords
from heavenly vagina waits. Linking me this or linking the cat
table manners and long distances kisses
show me your skin
under ampersand stars, what? I can't hear you
walking around with broken connection cord
so heaven can wait oh damn where are we.
NOTES ON SOME MIDNIGHT BOWLERS
No sails set forth the winged
Internet stars owed us more years to live
the bowler sits in his syntax my eyes dissolve
in limitless surrender a row of people
bowling their hearts and disgust for life out
for what, I don't know, the three-hole signature
kept us pure and common
that heavy plastic ball
shot up towards angel pins
Oh life, oh death--what things to stuff
between headless origin; someone strikes
where I could have died in the arms
of some ghostly gerund for the fun of it
it seems the sun rises for the sun of it
Feliz Molina recently earned an MFA in poetry from Brown University. She has appeared and is forthcoming in Dark Sky Magazine, Jellyfish Magazine, Titular Journal, Shampoo #39, Electronic Literature Organization vol.2, and others. She lives in Buffalo, NY. You can look at her drawings at Museum Of Expensive Things at: houseofdrawings.tumblr.com. Her blog is The Undercastle Radio.
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