Poets hang out in my kitchen. Apparently. Poetry by way of magnets:
trap ghosts not puppets
…..
the skeleton’s torso elaborated
…..
finite sister has evening of transgression
…..
i pronounce you him and her
…..
i am compelled by a devil to dance like an angel
…..
understand and bomb it
…..
work bruise and blossom
…..
this page is bleeding
……
consume liquid soap
…..
don’t fight your obsessed lover
Note: the first four examples of brilliant poetry are attributed to my brother Joel. I have no idea what he was implying by “finite sister has evening of transgression.” Nor do Beth and I know what inspired a visiting boy to write about an obsessed lover. Some things are better left unexplained.