Poetics
by Anna Evans


Protuberances

I am not a woman who enjoys

scenery which blends in, hides

tastefully. I prefer monuments.

 

Give me the hooked beak,

the crooked shaft, those glorious male

eyesores; I am not a woman

 

for the prettily eclipsed.

I am a lover of the raw,

the switch-backed, twitched

 

to the left. I am not

a woman who likes it smooth

and straight, with the lights off.

Turbulence

The fanís blades bat air at you

like a hundred doors slamming.

The sheets are still sticky

even though you made him come

in your mouth, behind a closed door,

behind many doors. Doors slam shut

in your head like a hundred blades

falling. The man beside you sleeps

the way they all do after easy sex.

In this sticky bed you made, you lie

awake in turbulence.

Trio Lay

In darkness on damp sheets she lies
between two men. They donít have names
for what she is, or how she writhes
in darkness on damp sheets. She lies
in daylight too. This could be why
she plays these self-abasing games
in darkness. On damp sheets she lies
between two men; they donít have names.

  

© 2005 Anna Evans

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