You see them from the corner
of your eye as you pass through shelves
of Lesbian Literature; they are a tight bunch
propped up by famous last names.
You take note of lines
staged in youth - naked truths
caught you in the dark; enlightened
you made your way to the future.
Before your final exit you fondle
their spines bound in the past.
As you whisper their words
they play games with your mind.
Dickinson is subtle in her scheme
Behind the Eyes of God.
While Olds, the master of manipulation
turns abuse into an art form.
Intrigued, you pause with yourself
to admire Whitman, and blush
with thoughts of self-beauty
in the glare of florescent lights.
You can’t escape the life examined.
In your face, they provoke
one look inward; a challenge
to be human under all that flesh.
CAT NAP
ODE TO MY GUITAR
CELESTIAL BODY
RETURN