Poems to Never Show Your Friends
I pretend, but I am not a strong person. I’ve been told that angels don’t wear socks, but that doesn’t stop them from never touching the ground and surrendering to a burning body. I pretend I’m in one of their stories, the holy ones where everything is so clean. Clean enough to hide a valley of bodies. Most people pray in gardens. I tend to find them used. I don’t want someone else’s desires. Don’t believe in fire and brimstone, just the ash they leave behind. It’s about time some one told me how stupid I’ve become.
A mouth full of dirt is hard to scream through. Have you ever seen a person more naked than when they cry? We could never be a drawbridge. I could make up names forever. You could keep shoveling dirt into my cavities. No one told us how to make an image, so I guess we’re not god. After all of this. Still mad.
If death is the end, then nothing is. Then those boys didn’t really eat bread. They ate the body of their dead father. Scientists are discovering so many new things about black holes. Their hands smell like smoldering charcoal.
Stay with Me
To anyone who finds me, I’m still alive. Fail and the sky is still. I want to answer you with romance. Yet, everywhere I look there is only the stale rattle of bones. Flush orange and purple together, and we’re something in the middle. You found me and gave me all your depth, you teach me what kind of romance. Throw ourselves into the air, cut through the clouds. Heavy like a hammer.
Get a Job
We’ve run out of food. Our stomachs are boiling with whispers. It’s time to cry until we’re dead. Ask the sky to eviscerate you before the earth decides bones are unnecessary. Always ask for the crust to be cut off. That way you can melt faster than your friends. Did you know that ice came from a womb?
Logan is an artist and writer in Florida. You can find him online at helloimlogan.com, and Twitter @hello_im_logan.
Purchase Logan’s book, THE UNIVERSE HAS AN OCULAR MIGRANE