Kerry Cox Poetry

rendered

now, as if I had roses underneath

ordinary skin, i have come to blossom

into tears and whitewater rapids

full

.

ghostly, the wishes of underlying

thoughts, watery films of 

the way we kiss.  cool

time and machines 

to transport 

the mind to its

own excuse.

.

this is a grave, too

this evening light, this

slow tempo.  this is a 

remembrance of all

the sand that’s ever 

been made.

.

call me a lover

and that is words but

more in your mouth.  call me

sorceress because I want

to make magic for you,

again.

.

these are still pillows stained

with blood, sometimes.  these

are still stories meant to scare 

children, or 

those too innocent to know better.

.

climb me like roses on trellises

will grow towards sunlight.  i have

a busy way of making myself

buzz from inside that

sings itself to sleep

when your music melts

inside me.

.

call it capture, release

a new script for 

an old movie because

acting is unheard of

in scenes this raw and ready

in houses made of 

cards and campfires.

.

but I am not glass anymore, 

listening for stones slipping

down mountainsides.  i am back

to ocean, back to salt

back to waves of petals

soaked with

scent.

Precipitate

Gravedance romance
I eat you like rain

Hurricanestyle gnashing washed
in blushing heat and pain

Alike then switched
up and down at birthing
grinning Cheshire fang
and little stones for hurtling

Grownup tables, wolves
told fables where they
were more than good guys

I hid below the April snow
stuck in every disguise

Bleak, you think
when I speak like sleep
then wake with no words left

Tomorrow told me what its like
to be dreamt of like a lover

My lover told me not to worry
if I was worthy of the taste of
slipping under

But blooming is harder than flowers think
when safe in seeded ground

Light skipped on skin like flat stones
my favorite feversloshed sound.

Past Tense

were it spoken

aloud

the firefly din

the drums

.
were it mentioned by moonlight

wicked dreams

alabaster alibis

as if this was a tale

told by fairies

to scare little girls

from going out at night

.
were it dreamt itself, a classroom

of helios, dna deciphering

fingerprint whorls

glamorous as mudpies

and leafmoney

french fries made of sticks

glib like a mother’s name

when you’re 10

or 20

dangerous like a dad’s name

at any age

we spin this yarn into

city, state,

refuge

.
were it recited, a lesson

blank at first

then filling itself in

like mortar

like fireworks

grand and glorified

mineral fevered

a new sort of candy for those

whose teeth

aren’t already

sweet

.
were it foretold

in scripts and scrolls

dead before we were

old before we were

silent before we were

meaningless before we were

but no less important

for that

.
were it enough

in touched open moments

galvanized tin can tears and

thunderous applause

we kick these

habits of telling

our reasons

when the most we can know

is equations

that might equal a deficit

of destiny

yet the language of mimicry

is the only kind

that can

set you free.

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(Source: kerrycoxpoetry)

this is how

i. this is how i love you:

with fear like thinking of dying

chanting songs i don’t have words for

with seaweed arms swaying

with a tongue pierced over and over

like a Bengal tiger going extinct

like an unfound pearl safely inside an oyster shell

gold filling in broken cracks of prayer wheels

dividing endlessly

.

ii. this is how i consume myself sometimes

cotton candy dissolving

sutures coming undone

bad advice

hunger that devours itself

without a warranty

in Sumerian rhyming couplets

with bleeding gums

.

iii. this is what i think death must be like:

undulating inside the earth’s skin

the darkest cocoon

a phoenix kite tangled in a silvered, leafless tree

fingernails bitten below the quick

bone marrow harvesting

the universe contracting

.

iv. this is why i wake up:

need the color of an empty drawer

whirring of switchgates

refilling my hands with water i suck in quickly before it pours out

invisible glimmering air currents 

to remember beach cathedrals

.

v. this is what praying is to me:

underwater music

slippery skin

the eye of a whale

every poem spoken aloud again

.

vi. this is why i lie:

i’m afraid of ghosts i harbor like fugitives

my dna lacks originality

my body is a honeycomb of secrets

.

vii. this is how i heal myself:

warmer lessons in listening close to seeds

reprieve from dreams with no meaning

.

viii. this is how i know you:

the ancient rune for love and forgiveness - two lines crossed.

(Source: kerrycoxpoetry)

another oral history

grappling hook, holding

out for

something

stronger, feet

tied to fires

like an arsonist’s

last dream

.

come give me fellowship with free willed 

whistlers, criminals, details

let me lick

this honey

from distant fingers

.

I am violent in my 

knowing, my hurdling 

harm, i have ways to heal 

these war wounds

without

remembering

the bayonet breathing

that left 

gaps in the maps

i used to find my way

.

the covered wagon

way you spin yarns about

temperature and angle

comes home to roost

in my oldest tooth

.

remember that smile?  a baby-

mouth babbling new dreams

now i quake big paragraphs

like birthing breech bastards

from trembling womb

and pray without hands for

strength and heat

summon some wraith name

to wrap myself in

on days when sharp

swords come cutting

away 

.

and the bridges I’m building

crumble intentionally

for fear of being burned.