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But let me explain–there is this
disobedient coyote who lives
in my throat, howling for skin like the moon.
Tonguing broken teeth for the nerve
that’s connected to the scream bone.
She believes in open windows for altars.
The black pagan desert of the skies.
I have tried, believe me, to trim
her elegant toenails, build a fence that would
echo-proof these plains. But, goddamn,
she can wail steel bars into cattails
and my lips are not barbed wire. They part
like the sky to her monsoons.
Like all predators, she is born when breath meets skin.
She is tectonic breakdance. Aftershock bliss.
I’m sorry if the sound of crumbling foundations
keeps you awake all night.
Jesus Christ this is instantly one of my favorite poems OF ALL TIME!!! Thanks!
::fans self:: Goddamn, this is good. I got nothin’ else.
yes, lindsay, this is fantastic. i won’t presume to be deconstructive or analytical, but this poem is fucking good. the one word that comes to mind is visceral. it makes me want to blast heavy metal at top volume and punch holes in drywall.
wow. great. just great.
What they said.
“Tonguing broken teeth for the nerve
that’s connected to the scream bone.”
Yesss.
Poetry doesn’t strike me as often, but when it does, it’s with pieces like this one that fully wake the dead, along with the neighbors.
Excuse me now while I go take a cold shower.
Love this poem! Lindsay Miller, you are awesome!
very funny…
love this–thank you for the great work…