Find and share the perfect poems.
The white attic rests
among dripping trees
with unrolling tunnels
and trembling luggage
around were dens
all kinds of dens
and dazzling fruit
to weary the wind
the sun would end
and we’d smoke among the trees
our wary arms
tenderly relaxed
the urn faces a tree
of unequal height
when it came I grew
moved to two rooms in town
where I reach out at night
and bat the far air
Poems by Kenward Elmslie are used by permission of The Estate of Kenward Elmslie.
Could be inching my way across moth turbulence
(wrong country? Honduras?—No! No! Nepal!)
due to a motor disturbance in some itinerary program computer
that failed to take into account my aversion to hot weather decay
seven men sat
Zircon Circle
very low in their awareness
couldn’t dent the little bus
uh, up, us
up, us, uh
women and chicks
maimed in the bedroom
Laundry so near the ocean bothered Frank.
The lack of medicine on the shelves
also confused his emotional stance.
A moth fluttered against his leg.
A gust of wind made his Pepsi keen
as its foam trickled down inside.