lovesick writer’s block

this poem both explains and ends the dry spell. feels good

space time continuum for dummies

it took me five days
to realize why i was
so depressed
the anniversary
of the day we met
some years ago, now
different everything

i didn’t notice the date…
keep track of the day of week
by what everyone else
around me
is doing

soon there’ll be
a new anniversary
though i forget the date
the last time i saw you

we’d spent the night
in a white trash
ghetto
airbnb
played pool for most the hours
set a grill on fire
pretended to fish
i washed the dishes
and after
we just laid there
talking quietly
about the times
good, bad, and ugly
holding hands
like a couple of junior high kids
tick of clock
tick
tick
tick

in the morning
we did not say goodbye

we had a fit
like no other

i guess
that’ll have to
be enough

Michele McDannold is the author of the chapbook Point of Departure from COCKLEBUR PRESS and Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

sans itinerary

jumping on trains without any timetable

up before the sun
sitting in the near dark
you could use a comma
but the line break is ingrained now
thinking about literary posses &
how i’ve had my share
when it all falls apart it
feels like a cutting off of the legs
goodbye, tribe…
alone again

i spent a lot of time alone as a child
shut in a room with only a half window
sent out back to a broken swing set
watching the graveyard– there’s a poem about that
when i visit home now, papa’s grave
i don’t look that direction

i leave those thoughts unfinished because
at 44, i still only whisper
my truth

home is a strange thing to get away from

there are too many men
i am waiting for, to die
that is a fact
comma or no

reflections get garbled when you haven’t written for a while

my posses had only the best people
except that one that snuck in and took it all down
on occasion, that was me
well into when i knew better and still
love does tend to the bizarre and irrational

it’s time again to parse out my possessions
boots on the ground drill sergeant type what is
important to you

i consider it a gift, most of what i need to carry
is the intangible
resides in my head like any true poet
we get an over on the rest of the world with that one
even if those capitalistic sonsabitches don’t get it

i can see the tip of the sun now
it won’t take long

i blame the library for my need to seek out a different life
again and again and again
over-analyzing might have you believing i’m running
but i sit plenty of time in the near dark
putting things where they belong

to go untethered
suppose you could call it brave
to me it is just the sound of a life well lived
breathe in, breathe out…

the sun risen, it dips behind a cloud now
there’s coffee waiting in the other room
do you know what you can make that feeling into?
trust me, it’s motherfucking fantastic

Michele McDannold is the author of the chapbook Point of Departure from COCKLEBUR PRESS and Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

plainsong

i am thinking about your place
this cold of winter
this time of day
the sunshine warm
slowly receding
to other glows

years later,
it warms me still.

ahead of her class

woke up thinking about A-words
audacity
authenticity

sure sign that winter
will be setting in
soon

amorous
in a room of one’s own

afraid (of…)

in this particular emotion

the extent to which i am floored

off the ground
your love is
too stream of consciousness

isn’t it the usual that
fire on a fragile thing
will break

or is it reinforce

what is the most tactile
word you feel
mine are luxurious
& pornographic

you know
when you meet someone who understands
the mechanics of your body
and your mind

i should run
as they say
these things never work out

but today
we meet on the river that
runs contrary to the norm
one of five in the states
says the landlady

---

Michele McDannold is the author of the chapbook Point of Departure from COCKLEBUR PRESS and Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

a person whom the speaker dislikes or despises

quietly destructive things

is how i get fat and bad haircuts
is how bad men
“get” me

Porch Sessions #3

A number of various things today

watched a flower slowly bloom
from the front porch
it takes a long time
it’s still not done
i felt, once again,
the blooming of heartache
surround my lungs
and settle in.

It takes a long time
it’s still not done

---

Michele McDannold is the author of the chapbook Point of Departure from COCKLEBUR PRESS and Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

Porch Sessions #2 (Survey)

while thinking about all those suicidal adults and your own relative story

pause
for a moment
focus on the why
a 2 month old child
might be referred to
CPS.

an acronym meaning
fucked
from the get-go.

you think i sell them short?
i don’t.

some are mistaken
and some will
pull through anyway,
some
     how

pull that focus back in
see the baby

cradle their head in your hands
check for head circumference.
do the eyes follow the light?
the sound of your voice?
when you stretch out those little legs,
how far do they go?
can you measure their weight
in your arms?
step onto the scale
& tell me.

check once,
twice,
three times…

this assessment will be over in approximately
90 minutes.

that’s really all the time we have
thank you for your input

---

Michele McDannold is the author of the chapbook Point of Departure from COCKLEBUR PRESS and Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

porch sessions #1

i am the tired of bones
tossed at sea &
washed up in a nether land
maybe you’ll find me &
maybe you won’t
that i thought you were looking
was probably my 1st mistake
i should find what makes for bones
or become an adornment
or a pulverized mix of things
meant for something special and mysterious…
like love
oh love
oblivious to coercion
does it wait on untended beaches
for washed-up things?
destiny is the trust of waves
and do you know what that looks like?

---

Michele McDannold is the author of Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days, a book of poetry available from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. She was the Editor-in-Chief at Red Fez Publications for five years and is currently the editor/publisher at Citizens for Decent Literature. She has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. For more, please visit michelemcdannold.com.

think you better slow your mustang down

sometimes you just want a classic.

something that comes together so
easily
over italian
wine
& cheesy lovesongs

he’s worried about barbarianism
when all it was to do about–
he was hungry

in stillness, i
amplify
the quiet solitude of forgiveness
mother love let’s us get away
with so much

like a caveman
he orgasms all over himself
it’s all put together so well
work in time
to do nothing but stare at
the wall
do city buildings taste as different
as city people?
maybe it’s the green.

no time to myself to fuck my own ass
while i jack off. these are the
funny notes i adore

several days of masterbating
that glass like a tippy egg
you will never know the truth of it