by McKenzie | Sep 14, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
A valley of broken houses – inside a woman who collected rooms – plucked the extensions filled with accessories and moons. (expanding) Surrounded with the shadow of mirrors, she began to unwind her daughter – turned her inside-out pulled her hair through the head of a...
by McKenzie | Sep 7, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
The first time you heard an ambulance, you stopped dreaming – stopped dreaming of such romantic inversions – like the hum of a whale, the cactus flower you turned into. A mother carries the last basket of apples from the garden and says they belong to you (like ribbon...
by McKenzie | Aug 22, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
1. I was awake on the morning the fog mustered up the courage to contact you. It was like moss growing across the door and tapping tree limbs combined. 2. You stopped moving two weeks ago. There are things you should have said, she said— gowns parted against humming...
by McKenzie | Aug 18, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
This reminds me of how clouds look in winter, so like soft scales on the ocean. The bodies park themselves as though in front of a window, looking in – you, I leave among the living with your hair and lungs inverted on a cloud. I assure you, I have done all I...
by McKenzie | Aug 6, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
The woman waded through the moonlit fields like a horse – deliberately. Her mouth was a pale line in the darkness, like someone searching for a love lost in death. Her bracelets clinked like hooves to cobble. I watched her move over the field like someone sleepwalking...
by McKenzie | Aug 6, 2011 | Blog, My Poems
1. And he said, “There is a reason you stopped drawing trees.” on the same morning that the hand on the clock stopped turning. 2. You spent that morning opening fields – releasing crows in large billows into the sky. There was no one. There was a...
