6.06 / June 2011

Two Poems

Vanishing Points

[wpaudio url=”/audio/6_6/Boyker1.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

Because the absence of prettiness can lead to invisibility,
she bit a clean circle in the flesh around her wrists,
ringed in red wells, used her teeth for the degloving
veins and sinews tucked neatly under bone
in love with her own blood.

Because the molar necklace sweltered at her throat,
she held his body against a wall and outlined him
with a privet green crayon to stave off the black-luck
flickering on and off like a distant radio tower
his red eye perched between steel beams,
while the slight vibration in the steering column under her hands
indicated imbalance.

Because it was not the first time he’d gone missing
she stretched her arms and grew oddly vast,
left no evidence behind, because at that juncture
there was only amputation. Flesh dissolved,
all the particular tricks to disappearing
down straight to the bottom of things


Thunderbird Motel

[wpaudio url=”/audio/6_6/Boyker2.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

The Wife sits in the car rubs
her hands over her alligator purse.
The red on her lips is imaginary
but the teeth in her mouth are real.
Having reached our destination
the sky has turned like meat.

Inside there ís a pack of cards but no Bible.
The Wife plays hangman while I shuffle
stretches the shower cap over her face
grins through the shine.
The stain on the carpet grows and assumes
the shape of a jet plane, an urn, an affliction.

The Wife presses her lips to my inner wrist
sings while her hand traces my clavicle.
She carries secrets, snug tight
all the air at the roof of the infection.
Car lights flash over the curtains
outside the landscape turns on a hinge

There is no place to drown here, so instead
we take turns suffocating each other with pillows
going just a little longer each time.
I am already rehearsing my speech to the manager,
already placing the ice cubes in my mouth
hoping they melt before the maid wheels her cart into our room.


Kelly Boyker lives and writes in Seattle, Washington, where the gloomy overcast days provide the perfect fodder for writing. Her work has appeared in such places as Opium Magazine, Wicked Alice, The Dirty Napkin, The Sacramento Review and Mannequin Envy. More work is currently appearing or soon forthcoming in Prick of the Spindle, Vinyl Poetry Journal, Sein Und Werden, SIR! and FRiGG. An e-chapbook is forthcoming from ISMs Press in 2012. She is the editor of the freshly minted online poetry journal Menacing Hedge (www.menacinghedge.com) which is currently seeking submissions for its Fall 2011 Edition (and yes, that's a hint).
6.06 / June 2011

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