her

by lauren atkinson


There’s a carelessness about her. in everything she does. 

every motive just seems reckless.

but then there’s the way the whole world composes around her,

everything else a dance in the midst of her.

a step off the sidewalk into busy traffic, 

every car at attention to the movements of a pedestrian.

all reactions due her,

but all eyes on her.


What Infinity Was

by lauren atkinson


I was a fool to ever think the way to infinity was believing in things that had no care or concern of me. If there was concern for my being, 

prove me wrong.

instead we’ve been cut out. chewed upon, 

and instead of spitting out the gristle or whatever

tries to remain, 

we’re mashed upon.

grit mixing with saliva,

stirred but not completely broken.

sore.

no, infinity comes not this way.

(and had it, I would want none of it,

to be torn apart and stuck,

rotting in the crevices between 

the teeth of all father.

cavities- rotting. 


November

by lauren atkinson


Maybe we should go away a while
Off to sea in
Flannel sheets,
The warm breeze of
Radiator heat

Punch my ticket,
Please.


If I wrote a song.

by lauren atkinson


all I wanted was a quarter

to play my song once more

and a quarter after that to play

it one more time

who knew it'd be so hard to

ever scrape a dime

 

see, i've got the motive

and miles of shakes in my shoes

as well

but all they seem to give me

is the ghetto jobless blues.


The Only Bitterness I hold is towards myself

by lauren atkinson


I was a fool to ever think the way to infinity was believing in things that had no care or concern of me. If there was concern for my being, 

prove me wrong.

instead we’ve been cut out. chewed upon, 
 and instead of spitting out the gristle or whatever
 
tries to remain, 
 
we’re mashed upon.

grit mixing with saliva,
 stirred but not completely broken.
 
sore.

no, infinity comes not this way.
 (and had it, I would want none of it,
 
to be torn apart and stuck,
 
rotting in the crevices between 
 
the teeth of all father.

cavities- rotting. 

 


august

by lauren atkinson


 

im jealous of everyone and every thing that has your attention or is in your presence,

that’s not me

at any time

or any place.

I’ve resigned myself to knowing that at least a hair on your head has to have the space to move. And yet i’d be jealous of the wind that carries it, 

the eye that sees it out of place,

and your fingers, brushing that strand back into place.

If I could, i’d be all people,

everything you touch

I’d be all moments 

of every day to you.

But that’s a selfish thing of me to do,

and I’d never wish such things because of it.


mourning

by lauren atkinson


 if i thought the words would bring you back

id only have 

muttered them under my breath

because it’s no use sleeping with the 

ghost

of someone else’s past.

and if drinking sips from out a holy cup

will keep us

all from shriveling up then

maybe we are better off buried

down

below the darkened ground.

we’re all martyrs

sheepherders

and bags of bones


July

by lauren atkinson


 the simple needs

of ever bare feet
dry wines
mild summertime
and the concern
in your eyes

when you wake to see me not asleep.

i'd confess the reasons
but i'd like not to
lessen gravity in any place
or way