Aja Monet

what becomes of children who survive us? indigo rosebuds or sunflowers risen of landfills voices made of tire swings and milk crates stick figures in sand drawn by fallen twigs…

vermilion wax seeps soft down a braided back of wick the mischievous flame swallows small devils rendered helpless shadows tremor the parquet how we rid a room of virulence tug…

Get off at Cleveland Street. You will discover a neighborhood of noise and the music will make your hips laugh the concrete is a pasture of broken nerves more importantly,…

you who are beautiful are always thinking. there is no image like the image of a man who thinks. the inside of my right thigh will be where he writes…

early this morning, just after homemade coffee you drove me to playalinda beach with your right hand on my left knee and the other limp-wristed on the steering wheel, on…

i did not want to write a poem full of corpses so i wrote a sacred pink blue sky jeweled on the horizon laughter as the loudest star sleeps humor…