1,544 Readings | 8 Ratings

I DO NOT KNOW IF I AM OWED


As it is almost noon


I will speak


An axe for the frozen sea


Abha is a good city


I am hard


Waiting for the soggy carpet


To catch fire, a bomb


In a backpack


My students eye me


Seeds in teeth


Love dripping & caked


In the margins


Meanwhile my mother is changing


Her headache medicine




2.


The cities of Europe will be washed away


I will choose at what rate


As the sun goes


Down on our pink, static


Faces we relay


New apocalypticisms


What if I am bruising


In stolen oil


My sands trumpeting


My dad & sister are moving


Through China in a taxi


Find me I scream and tap


The glass, the amber hotel


Constricts and a man taller


Than god takes my hand.



3.


I wish the great


Painters would all say


One thing


The physicists, too,


Everyone else is merged


With reality and therefore unable


To really be


The woman who pours


Hot coffee into a plastic


Vat to make it cold


Ah so beautiful


I can’t explain it



4.


I bring my check to the bank.


I don't believe


We are happy.


Ahba is a pleasant city.


I walked in shorts,


No backpack,


Past the 4th of July fences


Brown grass smeared


With mustard & dog shit


Not love but love’s


Frequency, a note


I could hit not hold


I am in a wheelchair trying to get to my grandmother


I can’t walk either


It’s terrible


She can’t walk


Posted 08/16/13
Books by Emily Kendal Frey
Comments (0)
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.