All posts tagged poetry

That Was a Long Time Ago

Published April 6, 2016 by April Fox

We were all


captured behind glass

eyes, red-rimmed and leaking


in our creased, cupped palms

sliding through our fingers

to the floor

where they bathed

in retribution.

We were all

glass-eyed, blinded, captured

by our wrists, bound

with the long and strangling


of their self-loathing, we were

hunched over ovens, burning flesh

off our cheeks, exposing bone

the skull determined

to protect

what wasn’t there, we were


in cheap vases, we were

torn and stitched together

and together

and together until the fibers

meshed and the threads

locked tight together and the glass

behind us, now

reflected fire

and exploded.

Judge Not

Published February 18, 2016 by April Fox

Black robe, you are no


perched inside your wooden cage

blathering like an imbecile 

left too long believing

in your own insipid wit

Lathering the flaccid patriarchal cock

with the shit you saved from yesterday, tucked inside your cheek

there is no room under the folds

for the consequence of truth

If you sliced your finger open

on the records tucked away, ignored

you would bleed incompetence

and the longing for your father

Careful, placing 

dots on

every eye

The smell of acquiescence hangs around your head

like flies

draped across your altar,

eyes rolled back in your head

You are a whore

for ignorance

cheap and unrepentant. 


Published February 18, 2016 by April Fox

We are all God’s children, black
white, brown
No, not black, not white
certainly not brown; those are the ones with the bombs
even though they are the ones
who most closely resemble
on a cross; we are all
God’s children
wrapped in His loving arms
unless your loving arms are a woman’s arms, wrapped around
another, palm cupped against her
for comfort while you sleep
We are all God’s children
sending you fags
to hell
We are all God’s children; suffer the little ones
unto Him
except the tired ones, the hungry ones, the ones
with holes in their socks and underwear worn thin as tissue, handed down
from older siblings
gunned down in the street
Those are nobody’s children, and they should have
their heads impaled
on the steps of the social service building
as reminders to their parents
who forgot to pursue the
We are all God’s children, created in
His image,
plastic breasts and silicone lips and limbs torn from bodies
in the desert
dying for
[the sins of man for power for the almighty]
your country, protecting
your freedom
Blessed are the meek
for they shall inherit
the fear.

Street Fair Slut

Published February 14, 2016 by April Fox

Let’s sell these things

on a street corner somewhere 

looking far too innocent, with raised eyebrows and lids

open wide, and the hint of a smile

hanging around the edges 

of our lips

Let’s open our coats and offer them,

hanging there from rusted hooks

ten for a penny, twelve for a dollar

buy one get one free

Fingers torn off with the tendons rough and bare,

tongues sliced away, dripping blood and insolence 

eyeballs carved out carefully

with the sharpened edge of a spoon-

if you peer inside, you might see the thing

that made you raise the blade. 

Let’s sell these things, pressed between the pages of a journal

long-since burnt

scribbled onto dirty palms

professionally bound

and sent out from a factory

like underwear, or paint. 

Let’s sell these things, perched up

on a barstool 

sneakers kicking air

face too far from the microphone 

whisper, shout, silence, sing

Let’s sell these things 

and count the coins

let them go without regret

let them land on someone else to hold,

and earn back what they stole. 

Red Shoe

Published February 11, 2016 by April Fox

And in my cracked skull there lie

the remains, crushed wings, glitter

made from the lazy bodies of insects

too weak to run

The sun shines from between their segmented legs

They are the ladies waiting to be saved

from the darkness they pretend. 

Black shoe, they stick their raw heads in electric ovens

burning off their dignity

asses in the air 

the landscape gone to seed

long ago

no reason to tend the gardens

where they grow their worthless worth. 

Inside their battered cages, they chant

power and redemption, crawling

headless mindless



through the shit. 



Published February 7, 2016 by April Fox

In their tiny cells

with the paper-thin walls

they ask their gods for favors

supplicant and pale, shivering in the heat,

painting pictures of the dollar signs

that fill their heroes’ heads

shackled to their plastic smiles

the ass chases the carrot.

In their tiny cells

with the paper-thin walls,

they write

poking holes in the barriers

with sharpened sticks and crayons

taping over them

praying to get out

They bite their tongues

and swallow them

they are washed in the blood of the christ.

In their tiny cells

with the paper-thin walls

they strip their clothes and wait

palms up face down,

tied up

in the corner

with candy floss and threads of spiderwebs

bound by the belief

that they cannot save themselves.


If I 

Published February 5, 2016 by April Fox

If I stay

to watch the fog creep in and

overtake the hills

devouring the trees and leaving only the

damaged voices of coyotes in the dark 

If I stay to watch the sun come up and bathe the sky

in vulgar light and blind me

with the privilege of sight

If I stay to lie

under the stars, and close my eyes

against the tired

waiting moon

If I stay

to clothe myself in the longing of your skin

If I stay to blink away the sleep and reach for tiny hands

If I stay and take the grace

of your perception 

Will you offer me forgiveness 

when I drown?


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