Poems by Chris Vannoy

Window Pain

You break me in small pieces
I listen to your scars
they tap on my forehead
steal my breast away with their sorrows

I lie awake and wonder if the sky lightening
will bring the warm blankets
that you have ask me for in my dreams

the window has broken

I see you shiver in his arms

It's A Long Way Home With a guarded sigh I peel my skin off muscles exploding small capillaries bruise slightly purple this perforated flexible outer casing of mine mostly water and salt I scream night beats back the sound with soft fists of rain Your clothes lie near- my bed holds your bones they dangle across the feathered mattress and rattle when you speak Crushed roses your breath smelled of crushed roses as you spoke of spring time and burnt offerings Your eyes were tied to the upper corner of the room where walls and ceiling join supported by cob webs Our thoughts echo through the silence between us lost as train whistles they sweep small animals from distant tracks You wished to be left alone the bars of your silence are cold against my back I can see the candle burning in the window across the street where I once lived but it's raining and I would have to put my skin back on to get there.
Crazy Mary Crazy Mary has a gun. Crazy Mary has a sleek black gun that she keeps well oiled. Ready for pigs that get in her face when her vision blurs red; Ready for freaks that get under her skin and pull her trigger finger all the way back; Ready for punks on the street corner who burn her for the sweet smell that makes the world seem all right (although it never is); Ready for the dark night to wrap around her until she disappears into its blackness with the smell of gunpowder burning the air. Crazy Mary has a gun. Crazy Mary has a cold steel gun that she keeps down the front of her blue jeans. Just in case some MAN wants to touch her there He'll know it's not all right when he feels its hardness against his chest. He'll know it's not all right when he sees the flash, and feels emptiness where the bullet came out. He'll know it's not all right that Crazy Mary has a gun, and HE won't care, because Crazy Mary will be long gone Crazy Mary has a gun Crazy Mary has a warm smoking gun AND SHE DON'T LOOK BACK

All poems are original work. Copyright (c) 1997 by Chris Vannoy