An imitation of Anne Sexton:
The bright box pinching my brain.
I am a vegetable.
Stew me and feed me to the lobotomized.
We have something in common
and can cry together in deadened madness.
An imitation of Alberto Rios:
An elevator chose not to move up or down
but backwards, sucking a man into classrooms
and dull as wheat bread lectures, kissing under trees,
touchdowns on grassy lakes, and punching friends' arms,
then it spat him out again on the top floor.
An imitation of Ted Hughes:
Tight and panicked, his muscles hug the fur,
Eyes horrified, a click of his heart's snapping beat
Kicks his hind legs into motion, wadded tail of grace
Prays for the safety of laying hard and hot against
A trees open trunk. Upside down and lonely.
An imitation of William Wallace McCombs:
We pulled skunk weed and moss
from Wyndehurst's dry dirt.
We tucked it into mole holes,
after we'd stomped on their hills
and apologized to our rodents.
An imitation of Phillip Larkin:
It comes in torrents, breaking on the bay
Of distant horizon as it swallows sun
At end of life, soaking up the day.
No time to run or place in which to hide
The dawn is gone and best of luck to die.
An imitation of Phillip Levine:
Inside of red paint, inside of animal skins,
Inside of bulb-lit casinos and martini glasses,
Inside of penned-in trodden down souls,
Inside of peace pipe, poker chip, tan hide, grave eyes,
The war chant grows.
An imitation of Eavan Boland:
The fields are flat.
Heavy and open,
the clear, sharp rows of corn
prick me.
I am crushed flat with fear.
An imitation of Adrienne Rich:
You demanded to be a princess
and the ruffles on your dress outfrilled frill.
I pushed you on the swing as you cried "higher!"
and smiling, my tear kissed the lawn
as I remembered being you.
An imitation of Lorna Goodison:
Staring into a sky that goes on forever
you think flying wouldn't be all that hard
if you just thought light thoughts and spread
your fingertips apart, letting air find its balance
over your wings, lighter now, with muscular breath
you can lift your great Chinese fans up
and down, high and low, flying and dying into the air.
An imitation of Lyn Hejinian:
Today, my feet took me to a field
flattened by loneliness
green with hope
The weeds, the eyes wink
in the empty breeze
I stand in despair
my toes pet the forehead
of its rejected child
Unworthy of so much longing
observation does little.
