The Show Tell Project

For Seymour's Fat Lady

Tag: poem

Twist me Tender

by fyarlgiles

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-knees

and necks  this way

and that–

I hate to see that

bluish bend.

Beneath the floors

like dying

rats,

The folded backs

of melting men –

Cowardice by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Franz Flackenhaus

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Your Drowning is Contagious

by fyarlgiles

The heavy stone tied to my ankle

is you

because you are smooth,

asleep,  and

sinking downward with all those lovers still attached.

—–At the very bottom,

My eyes are both closed and open

because who can tell the difference down here?

I cannot breath

and

 I know  that waiting is all there is

anymore.

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I’ll let it happen

like you do–

never stopping to resist

We’re together

you’re alone

dying any time is fine

by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Raw

by fyarlgiles

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I feel

emerging from my softened heart

the rage of that diamond-blooded girl.

She boils in my body

like she did then–

sharper than glass

and

drenched in sacrilege –

 ready

to draw your blood.

“Platinum” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Rouge Illusion

by fyarlgiles

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with blurry fingers

and white shadows

she beckons me

to her

mirrored hall

of

—-  madness

————

–I won’t go

no, I won’t go–

but  you are always in my eyes

spinning shadows

into

fire

underneath your

bloody rose

“What it is to be Red” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Rouge Illusion by Elle Hanley 

Where it’s Safe

by fyarlgiles

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I am here–

No hands to grasp

the prickly air

or

limbs that long

for impossible

love–

But

I

am

here

— a face stuffed 

with pale, white

mud

–so that the world

will never get in

or out

of me.

-“Where I am Today” Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

I will Protect You

by fyarlgiles

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My gaze–

brown and hard–

poses on

your

tiny

 back,

piercing holes

into those

that you

do not

wish

to face.

“Safe” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Immunity by Filmout

Never have I ever

by fyarlgiles

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At 12 I didn’t have that

homoerotic

best friendship that I’ve

seen in movies–

I never eased my sweaty

palm into yours

and we never

shared powdery-pink

kisses during sleepovers

just for practice.

I always slept on my side

clinging to a small square of

purple sheet

instead of with you

forehead

to forehead

in a sea of plush blankets

You were always different.

Sometimes Lisa

sometimes Brie

Jenny, Mia, Amy

and those faces in between.

and I always felt alone with you

because we never touched.

–all of you so far away

and me too

smart to reach.

But

I choose to have

your girlish warmth–

—lipstick—

— secrets—

youth

A mirage of adolescent love

to make myself

feel

whole

by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

The Day After Samantha

by fyarlgiles

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the sting of her

flickers

in my sleepy

heart

for days.

— eyelashes

batting slowly

— golden collarbones

rising

and resting—–

 like

bright,

 blinking

blurs of

what Life

————--should be

– ” The Day After Samantha” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Native Elephant by Cassidy Rae Limbach

The Women

by fyarlgiles

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The women

are made of

heaven’s ruby lips

and honey-colored stares–

——–They are

those

chills

that prickle covered arms

 in the brisk night air-

and

——— those

mysterious

flirtations

that  warm dead fingers

with the electricity

of

promise.

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but deep

in the bones of their pretty feet

—–deep

in the pits

of their brown bellies

is a passion sickened

and pale.

-Too old and beaten

to come

to life

for me.

-Angie Hoover -Hillhouse

What I’ve got they used to call the Blues

by fyarlgiles

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the spirit of her

chaste

young

body

rests behind my slanted eyes—

a geisha

with

porcelain skin

and a heart painted onto

her

voiceless mouth.–

so graceful

as she

dances with paper fans

in silky robes.

—sleep —

—sleep—

For I am strong.

A woman

with feet unbound.

Legs bare

hands free.

And she

is

–a face

weak

and wading

in the milky water

Sunday Morning by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: The Porcelain Mist by Elle Hanley Photography