2,327 Readings | 3 Ratings


You’re immature

You go downtown

You exist on the top layer, stretching outward

Kombucha tea was taken off the market

Your mom walks the lake in the driving rain

Perhaps there’s more

The sky is so demanding

In line at the grocery store benevolence descends

Man with thrice-washed spinach

You could be him


With the coffin of love off you

You punch a hole in the subterranean

You go home

The neighbors’ baby is out of town

They’re fucking on the floor near the fireplace

It’s spring

Called to the window, you sit by the window

Your skin suddenly moist

You put a baby inside her

Everyone’s tethered

To the supermoon
Posted 03/20/11
Books by Emily Kendal Frey
Comments (1)
Lovely. Emily, I think this poem is first cousins with the song "Downtown" by Destroyer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkB5Ba8SWxU
03/30/11 10:27am