The Photo Album
David Luntz
He lies there, crumpled and ragged—
a pile of unwashed laundry.
He lies there, crumpled and ragged—
a pile of unwashed laundry.
The world might
not be here tomorrow,
but she still draws
a perfect outline
around her
lips and eyes.
There were all these portraits of me hung on the walls and they would dance on the frames,
the shadow people that spiritually strapped my body to the mattress.
There are two breeds of love in the world / but I forget what they are.
standing around in my underwear
in the kitchen Christmas Eve
journal entry #3
the birds ministered from tall pines
our eyes were
sites of excavation effaced by inner winters
went blind
amid the gorge the
See, I’m too stupid to write a poem.
Remember when I said this, that afternoon by the lake
in our purple & yellow short shorts,
Levi’s High
My moods as blue
as these lake hues
Ass still looks hot in this
double denim though,
so fuck yous
Swatting flies
On my thighs
in the desert
Amor
Bouchon
Steak
That’s when she asked me if you were still part of our family.
I watched the Fassbinder film.. half in English, half in German..
still, there was so much salt
in so many wounds
life got stuck under the wheels and desire’s language smacked into cliché, death came as Chet Baker crooning love, almost blue
I had a dream where
I found a way to look at your
Instagram through one of those hilarious
Nebulas
Dreams
Afford, wrapped tightly with a regal
the movement of our bodies had rubbed the edges of my right knee completely raw.
I want you to see this as romantic
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
"[Her Lesser Work] is a collection of mordant and formally inventive stories circling themes of, let’s say, desire and escape within repressive structures."
-Walker Caplan, Literary Hub