paper arms

everyone else seems older.
cardboard hands extended over
half-grin memory of
face - all that's left after the
sunset rode away like a
divorce lawyer.

but the sunsets child on her
skin. sets imaginary adventure
on her nose. sets a freckle on her
grin that hasn't changed
even that much over the years.
sunset bleaches her teeth
to a level of gold
no coffee pot or marlboro
could even dream of.

and she's younger now. younger
than when we snuck outta grandma's
window to have a beer with the boys
and their for sale sign smiles.
younger than the paper
arms they tried to serve to
her shoulders. the paper arms
that tried to mold her.
fold her.
hold her
back.

8:22 AM - 23 Comments - 44 Kudos - Add Comment

don benitez

back in a south american
sesame field
machete in hand
pants rolled up
flip flops tied together by wire
don benitez looks up at the sky
and says "looks like war, eh?"

don benitez cried when the twin
towers fell
cried for the thousands
cried for his two countrymen inside

"what i don't get, courtney," he says
"what i just don't get is,
why now the poor people
why do they wanna bomb
people like us?
we cried too."

8:59 PM - 11 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

he used to always choose the car

but faced with a transfer that'd
take him gallons of gas from home
or foreclosure on the mortgage
he got suckered into
right tricked into on the first space

he feels foolish

but he wasn't the only one sitting on
booster seats of cut-out coupons
and rebate checks of confidence to
reach the board on that tall table

he wasn't the only one let out a holler
at that chance card bank error in your
favor get out of jail
free parking

but that house was paid off damnit
buyout used as a down payment
and when there was no work he
even had credit

he fell for it
he knows damnit
all of his cards flipped over
on the table

but he could have more
they said
low rates
they said
he could make money off
the small house
they said
have a yard

he damn well knows
he fell for it damnit and
he doesn't wanna
fuckin talk about it
no more, okay?

so now
he chooses the cannon
points it straight at the yard
to keep the bankers and their
monopoly money away

9:41 AM - 20 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

consolation

the leaves still scatter
along ahead of a bar
with a lone guitar &
at least 20 souls who think
each one is as alone as
stan getz on a radio in june

6:48 PM - 19 Comments - 38 Kudos - Add Comment

watch the pot

sometimes you gotta look your gift horse right in
the ass. accept that there's a sad apple in every
bunch and that – chances are – it didn't fall far
from the ideology. let that turn your beggars
into choosers. let that make you dig right past
china. it's like finally letting your right hand in
on what your left foot has been stepping in for
nearly half a century. it's like letting your baskets
count their eggs while they still have the opportunity
to weave. it's like realizing that not all romans do or
ducks look walk and talk the same. or like making
sure you watch the pot before you throw out the baby
with Guantanamo Bay

6:46 AM - 24 Comments - 44 Kudos - Add Comment

parada solicitada (stop requested)

everyone on this bus has paid a fare
the old drunk with nostrils like frying pans
the girl with braids her mother their bent knees
even the driver and his stick shift eyes!

everyone's got a bit of northeastern in 'em
the last-minute student the irritable tourist
the public school teacher underpaid by her adjective
the thumb print foreigner and the dressed-down clown

the man stuck in a woman's body the woman stuck
in a man's body the woman stuck in a woman's body
and the man stuck standing by the door

everyone's got their own bags to carry
everyone got on this bus somewhere
everyone's got to step down eventually and
walk the rest of the way home

12:28 PM - 21 Comments - 42 Kudos - Add Comment

he doesn’t wear hats

although i think i once saw him in a fedora

thought - this and others that only serve
to describe sailboats or september

roll out of dust-covered suitcases and

the predictable rains of june with the propriety
of broken zippers or plaid flat caps

dress up as regrets measured in gallons and

long weekly strides of april & when it
comes right down to it matter

as much as some july that no one will remember

like that i could have given him one anyway
filled to the brim with maybe marbles or metaphors

to describe eye color or even november

2:49 PM - 16 Comments - 34 Kudos - Add Comment

red bed ink

in this city
brave little forms and honorable
pen ink somehow stand on the
same street
alone.

this city's full of red bed ink and
her smell swims right through the pores
of each blocked letter. her lazy canals and
her garbage piles on saturday
her sweat of centuries
her bingo corner pride
stamp each page like
laundry and
i want to fold it.

i want to fill my ears with
exhaust fumes. ex
my eyes with the scent
of day-old graffiti. wake to
her bridges in the morning
fan whir in the streets and
my face in the nook of her raised arm.

i want to sweat heat and
sunlight. imagine the shoulders
of her roads in a cane field at noon or
on a river bank at lunch as
signatures of a drying sun.

i want to imagine that
sweat has value
because each printer cartridge
of sidewalk
(carriage return)
and power line
is ours.

but no matter how many bureaucrats
and rebels fill our beds
recife & me
we always wake up
alone.

9:30 PM - 10 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

Starfish

hi everybody,

i'd like to direct your attention to the Starfish Journal 7, now available at http://starfishpoetry. net where you will find a candy store heaven of surreal delight, including two of my poems.

as usual, Mr. Rob has outdone himself.

oh! and on wednesday i'm defending my masters dissertation, so, please send me good vibes!!

best to all,
courtney

11:57 AM - 17 Comments - 15 Kudos - Add Comment

the glass

in the absence of plastic seaweed i filled a hallway
with life. dived in. jumped out. screamed. fashioned

myself an aquarium. opened the blinds. faced you
with your sky and your cheeks. your skin your air

your curiosity for fish. your five o'clock smile
and your eyes of scrimmage. your ignored

armistice and the unused arrows of your lips.
i saw your cultivated gravel and your lawn

chair plasticarium. ignored the sign outside
of me slightly askew on your forehead -
i tapped.

7:40 PM - 17 Comments - 36 Kudos - Add Comment