In a no-paper dream
not a friend
not a team
you watch me ripping
my linen.
I forget your name
so I say ‘mushroom.’
I forget my synonym
for 3 a.m.
*
Rachel McAlpine
In a no-paper dream
not a friend
not a team
you watch me ripping
my linen.
I forget your name
so I say ‘mushroom.’
I forget my synonym
for 3 a.m.
*
Rachel McAlpine
He was blessed
by the Holy Farmer—?
How random
and how rural
are our thoughts.
*
Rachel McAlpine
It’s a good day:
you woke up!
You have pressures,
Problems, and people.
Hooray.
It’s a bad day
when your poem
turns to paisley
in olive and maroon.
It’s a bad day
when you have to
phone the plumber
on a Friday afternoon.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Nostalgia has a bad name.
Nasturtiums. Neuralgia.
Think backwards without blame:
we will never
be the same.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Inside your pineapple shell
you have dreams
of being happy,
being well.
*
Rachel McAlpine
We believe every day
before breakfast that
we will not die
not yet, not now.
I know why
we perform
this impossible thing
—but not how.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Farewell the safety-pins
of yesteryear.
Farewell the rebel cry of
‘Look ma, no bra!’
Since the revolt of
‘Ha ha, see my bra!’
a strap seen
is not obscene.
*
Rachel McAlpine
In April 1996
I stopped lusting
after men
and men
stopped lusting
after me.
What synergy.
What symmetry.
*
Rachel McAlpine
A bad boy
is not so bad.
A bad man
is not so good.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Youth is juice
youth is couth
and jumble
and youth
is jig-a-jig-jig.
*
Rachel McAlpine