Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Pearson Bolt Apr 2016
one thousand and thirty-six miles
are What Separates You From Me
i've been avoiding the records
we'd spin as we drove down
I4 and A1A

you swore you hated this washed-up town
nestled in a fly-over state
but i cannot escape the way
you grit your teeth
when you first cursed my name

so i'll hide you in the back of my throat
hang you like a corpse
from an out-of-commission larynx
deadened by an absence of anthems
we used to breathe in unison

choke back my melancholy
'cause all my friends lose interest
whenever i recall your face
and i can't say i blame them
i just wish i could agree
that i am better off this way
Pearson Bolt Apr 2016
our clothes are perfumed
in the after effects
of the cigarettes
you and he share
as we drive down
unpaved paths in Iowa

bits of ash
slip past your seatbelt
to build new nests
tangled gray birds
in my beard's brambles

the wind splutters its dying breaths
as a Jeep Cherokee kicks up
specters of dust
and i sit in the backseat
forgotten
while second-hand smoke
leaks out half-cracked windows
fleeing your presence

i envy the particles
liberated from the confines
of your cancerous lungs
slipping free and disappearing
into the mourning light
rising with a ruddy sun
behind anguished hillocks
Pearson Bolt Apr 2016
the sun hangs itself in a noose of evening gloom
as we swear to gods we don't believe in
we'll be different  
that you and i will remain entwined
by the rhizomes rooting us
to this earth
and to each other

though the flame of romance may
one day flicker and fade
like the silver lighter in your trembling
half-frozen fingers each time you
light your cigarettes in Lamoni’s frigid winters
we promised to remain enshrined forever

but the words best friend have been redefined
how can i ignore the moment's hesitation
before you meet my eyes or the wings
of carrion fluttering in our chests
feasting on the flesh of crushed butterflies
that fled the prisons in our stomachs
choked within a chrysalis of expired affection

left with remnants
of an evanescent tryst birthed
beneath a new moon
as an intergalactic sky
sighed with bliss at our first kiss
reminding us we were born in the hearts
of dying stars and borne across the universe
to these moments that leave us
transfixed and effervescent

did those same suns foretell
that anguish would usurp the home
i built you in my mind
and love would die on a midnight
drive to Blythedale, Iowa

a reminder that always
is a little white lie
and its inflection denies
sincerity and integrity
in the heady high of affection
But always is always and always is valueless. I wish I'd never heard her speak a word.
- Jordan Dreyer
Pearson Bolt Mar 2016
witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront

rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor

i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay

Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks  
nursing secret heresies of insurrection

colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or Read A ******* Book
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room

a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question

why?

the banner
cheerfully pirouettes  
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having
Pearson Bolt Mar 2016
lines of malice are penned
within ancient tomes
black and blue ink bruising
the human psyche beyond recognition

stunting our collective imagination
with fantasies of castles
among the clouds and intergalactic
beings who sculpted us from dust

intermittent smears
of crimson declarations
lingering in blood-soaked texts
painting portraits of putrid prejudice

the image of an illusory deity
devised to explain a cosmos
that defies codification and categorization
we mythologized and told tall tales like Arachne

spinning webs of misinformed misfortune
we're severing the strings of our imaginary enemies  
silencing lives with rusty shears
utterly convinced by the edicts of idiots

how might we disentangle ourselves from mental
cobwebs and embrace reality's promising veracity
each of us an accidental miracle
captains of our own fortune's vessels

so weigh anchor and set course for distant shores
unfurl the sails of reason and hold fast
after weathering millennia of insipid beliefs
we'll sojourn ever onward with omnipotent minds

raze these sycophantic fantasies  
and raise hell so high it becomes heaven
we will build a new city in the shell of this cold
dead society predicated on misanthropic religion
Happy Easter!
Pearson Bolt Feb 2016
yesterday
she told me
two of her
favorite things
are coming
and poetry

i'll wrap them
up together
present them
at her altar
with a tongue
simultaneously
tasting limericks
in the air
and slick flesh
as we share

shuddering breaths
thundering in chests
choked with lewd scents
and a sense of urgency
surging back and forth
like waves flirting
with the coast
returning to embrace
no matter how many times
we drive each other
to new heights
of anxiety and ecstasy

a full moon
devising a riptide
******* me out to sea
will i seek peace
or slip beneath
and let the current
carry me

i've tried in vain to fight
the whispered suggestions
layered in alluring messages
but this lurid affection instigates
an aggression you welcome
with innuendos insinuating
intentions of transgression
Pearson Bolt Feb 2016
heat flushes pink cheeks
with each fleeting
transgression
another sinful taste
of this forbidden fruit
hidden in a lush garden
secreting sweet juices
secretly sprinkling scarlet lips
parted in desperate obsession

fingers slick and sticky
slipping beneath greedy creases
pleadingly penning treatises
with gushing ink
like fingertips on flesh
peeling back another
layer of skin
to savor the tantalizing
treasure buried within

orchestrate a climatic finale
intermittently violent and intimate
soaked with dew
spewing new seeds
pollinating a flower burgeoning
in endlessly fertile acres
Next page