| 7/31/2007
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does money make sense
in any tangible way
outside of torture |
posted by Julie @
12:47 AM
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| 7/30/2007
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flashing headlights wipe
face, paramedics, crushed weight
life slips from moments |
| posted by Julie @
12:49 AM
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| 7/29/2007
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once a week she plucks
slim the lines above her eyes
to feel in control |
| posted by Julie @
12:31 AM
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| 7/28/2007
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the bird flies with wings
the dog has four legs, there's no
original thought |
| posted by Julie @
12:39 AM
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| 7/27/2007
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my first and best friend
manages a shop called what
art, butts, boobs and death |
| posted by Julie @
12:44 AM
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| 7/26/2007
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his eyes reflect gold
he keeps open and large
as the Round Tower |
| posted by Julie @
12:38 AM
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| 7/25/2007
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he stands beside her
smells her shampoo and talcum
and hopes she agrees |
| posted by Julie @
12:46 AM
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| 7/24/2007
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in the city bugs
coated antiseptic
give venomless bites |
| posted by Julie @
12:37 AM
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| 7/23/2007
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the rails are hot lines
two dragons spitting angry
as trains grip over |
| posted by Julie @
1:04 AM
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| 7/22/2007
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he wants to marry
but I want none of that shit
spectacle of sin |
| posted by Julie @
12:18 AM
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| 7/21/2007
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he lives in the tree
he says, caloo, look at me
from here the world spins |
| posted by Julie @
1:13 AM
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| 7/20/2007
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I worry about
how much you drink alone and
your recovery |
| posted by Julie @
12:26 AM
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| 7/19/2007
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it must be a theme
if you are to make an art
or no one will buy |
| posted by Julie @
10:48 AM
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| 7/18/2007
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some people say that
depression controls you
like a parasite |
| posted by Julie @
12:14 AM
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| 7/17/2007
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the tree with dark curves
is the one you sit under
shade like cocoa bean |
| posted by Julie @
12:37 AM
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| 7/16/2007
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what would you ask him
if you were interviewing
the Dalai Lama |
| posted by Julie @
12:22 AM
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| 7/15/2007
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phosphorescent corpse
skin lifting with the sea tide
hair puckered by fish |
| posted by Julie @
12:32 AM
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| 7/14/2007
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you're so public school
your ready-to-wear clothing
and shaggy hairdo |
| posted by Julie @
12:33 AM
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| 7/13/2007
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near fine dust jacket
crinkly cellophane wrap
and dog-eared pages |
| posted by Julie @
1:27 AM
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| 7/12/2007
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he is unimpressed
your son and the internet
are inseperable |
| posted by Julie @
2:24 PM
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| 7/11/2007
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your buzzer went off
and now you can fold laundry
like your intentions |
| posted by Julie @
12:42 AM
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| 7/10/2007
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there once was a song
that answered all the questions
it is forgotten |
| posted by Julie @
12:08 AM
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| 7/09/2007
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this weather gets me
sun, sun, sun always beating
no break from the heat |
| posted by Julie @
12:26 AM
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| 7/08/2007
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what worries you more
climate change or starvation --
carbon or carbon? |
| posted by Julie @
12:01 AM
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| 7/07/2007
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behind the deadline
you realize you don't care
you have divine right |
| posted by Julie @
1:06 AM
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| 7/06/2007
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her feet hang over
she turns a page then listens
to the train whistle |
| posted by Julie @
1:08 AM
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| 7/05/2007
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face lit by sparkles
beer bottle tipped to her lips
she is a hot night |
| posted by Julie @
12:46 AM
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| 7/04/2007
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bookmarked in Brazil
I wonder about your face
and motivation |
| posted by Julie @
12:24 AM
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| 7/03/2007
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sleeping on his side
bright light left on overhead
his neck pulses slow |
| posted by Julie @
12:43 AM
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| 7/02/2007
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the pressure is on
to make a poem worth reading
creates writer's block |
| posted by Julie @
2:17 PM
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| 7/01/2007
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cross legged on vinyl
you worry you'll miss the stop
a premature death |
| posted by Julie @
3:36 PM
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| |
| About Me |
|
Name: Nurse Fusion
Author: Julie Mae Madsen
See my complete profile
Email
|
| Archives |
|
|
Haiku for Health
| Sponsor |
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| Where to Find Me |
- Oregon Lit. Review
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| Links |
|
| Quote |
|
"...I am an artist who does not want to restore/If I have some fragment which is lovely to view from one side/I know to turn that side to the wall, like a jealous man/He who actually sees, sees only what he is without/knows, that however he asks the model to alter her pose/he'll paint only what is missing, perhaps a light that is gone/Displeased he lays the picture on the heap, begins another/The picture decays, if he paints over he'll see a void..."
Gunnar Ekelof
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