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Dead Poets

Author Biography
Poetry By
  Kristin Fullerton

Published on: 2/3/2015

Coffee and cream, newspaper,
a cup and a plate, a cigarette:
all minutes spent,
drowning the bird
calls in my throat.

Discarding words,
suffocated under the weight of usage,
some of us must sift through
and arrange the shadows
into discourse.

No one has to strip down
to darkness. The unbuttoning
of your mouth is a curtain, ripping
light into the living room
at dawn.

Published on: 1/30/2015
Like Jazz

When I am taut like cello strings:
Press your ear to the table
I will whisper like jazz
vibrate the whiskey in your glass
dance the ice cubes in three-four time.

Slide your heart to the floor
I will love you like jazz
Circle the intent in your hands
Scale your thoughts in five-eight time.

I will tell you things you already know.

(mark this date in your calendar)

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