Tasha Klein


Somewhere

we wake
on this charming
scratchy blanket
sticky again
your face between
my thighs
a star stuck in your hair
pretty & glittering

i think my heart
has turned
into some sort of
white blossom

i think that is your red shoe
stuck up in that tree


And Her Ability To Converse Was Never Affected

After she drank the peyote
Lily Royal dismantled
the decaying takahe exhibit,
steamed some salmon with aioli
then gave her new lover
a wine bath on the kitchen table.


spring apocalypse

I could throw up
running from
overdeveloped hearts

type words in cackles
the font crusher
full

but
I only want the one with the waltz hair glowing

I want the one with the bombed eyes
and the century's erection

the one with the whales
swimming inside


Snowed in at O’Hare

I pull the wires that spin snowflakes
in the half-light of your round table eyes.
On them a flower breathes
its breath song.

Oh, unroll the linen star chart,
pull the sky down to touch it too;
the language of velvet & night
fills all space around us.

And we spin, spin, spin!
Faces bursting through hair only for flashes,
sculpturing our features together.

Far across the ocean
dusk falls behind gargoyles
waiting on a roof above the square.


what I really want to discuss…

is the way
daylight dips into this
wine

why you don't smile

deep snow

and

fear.

-all poems taken from her bolg, Good Vibrations1