by McKenzie | Feb 18, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
There will come a day when no one— literally no one— will carry a Polaroid camera. You walk through a corn field realize the machines have learned to walk. The water turns to ice, turns to mold hung within a tree— your hair long trimmed with...
by McKenzie | Feb 17, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
and poets— You turned at the waist behind the podium and the way your mouth moved suggested kissing as your eyes focused on my shadow. I understood. I know my eyes would have reminded you of winter and the way the leaves curl curl into combs and lanterns...
by McKenzie | Feb 16, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
1. There are still fields where the crops split open into other fields. The crows become a canyon that opens its mouth revealing a dust storm. 2. You walk into a museum and focus on a set of inverted paintings— a cropping of heads mounted on...
by McKenzie | Feb 14, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
Where did these bricks come from – perhaps they were trees and olive branch burned in a santuary window. As though to throw off the jack-in-the-box image, the mouth of an auditorium the Keynote is the inversion of a ghost – what do they aspire to? A tree,...
by McKenzie | Feb 14, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
How large must the statue be when buildings are buried like small ships once floating in a sea of sand, flesh-turned -clay figurines walking under the dome that is brushed with sand and wind and grass that touches two amputated legs. * Inspired by...
by McKenzie | Feb 13, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
1. A house was parked floating on a vineyard where scarecrows frowned upon a funeral. The mother said, “And this is where you were made –” pointing to the area between her legs. 2. That winter, corn stalks and cactus leaves coexisted. The child pictured a machine...
