Pockets full of paperclips,
fingertips tip-tapping at the typer
like jiggling a toilet handle,
I’ve got some words, one or two
to spew, a Dilophosaurus mish-moshing
misplaced lines at myself in the mirror.
I have crumpled notes missing the
and a heart and head, chaotically
pushing my corpse through each day.
And I cliff-hang to my commas as margins,
and spew a smile. On some days,
that’s all we have.
Let the lines seep under the door frame,
even at ungodly hours,
I let ‘em in.
Red Bull Laced with Vodka
There is a fire-breather in my throat,
the soppy liquid poured and asked if
it was home. I want to book it,
but the calendar was full.
I tip-tapped a fork on the glass
and sung a poem, instead.
I have moved on,
from those garage sales of one-story homes
to multi-million dollar estate sales,
and siphoned overpriced coffee beans
while on this rant,
yet it only added more chaos,
imagine elephants jumping
through a hoop of fire as the kinetic.
Or strep on balancing beams
about to crash in an empty pool
of your body.
Even my nerves rollercoaster jolted.
Poet Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. She chirps down coffee while scrawling lines on the back of gas station receipts. Her work has recently appeared at In Between Hangovers, Apricity Magazine and The Rye Whiskey Review.
Glenn Bowie is a published poet, lyricist and photographer from the Boston area. He also owns and operates an elevator company that supplies custom-built elevators for clients from New England to Hollywood. Author of two poetry and photograph collections (Under the Weight of Whispers and Into the Thorns and Honey) on Big Table Publishing, he donates all profits from his books to various charities for the homeless and local animal shelters. Glenn is also the official photographer for the Newton Writing and Publishing Center.