STOP BURNING PLASTIC, by catch business

catch business is the author of able to / always will (ccm 2016) and founding poetry editor of witch craft magazine. @catchbusiness

stop burning plastic

friendship is just french fries
cigarette spring smiles
wanting you
to think i knew cosmos
before you showed me
some time for the fragile
everyone sitting on the floor
with space still on the couch
pep talk your strung out room
literally the only thing
i don’t want to get to know
your friends throw fireworks
parties naming this a play on
your name i could hear
wings working how
should a person be
if not in words we’re not
only interacting recording
your voice i listen to
you take me back
into starving for so long
in so many ways i don’t realize
until you call me beautiful

bending over

darks in the washer over night
the smell of mildew

my ex sitting on the couch
he wont look at me

he wont leave either
i’m running

argan oil thru my hair
over my skin

i’m shutting the door
hear the drip i want to look in

the mirror understanding
artificial light artificial paths

the garbage goes out
the garbage is too full

the compost needs to be turned
i’m cold cordially curious

poppies on the sidewalk
the last thing he said

the week after she died
i don’t want you to be like that

talking bout my ex online

someone is summoning my spirit for assistance casting a love spell
only my bed is cooing tenderly cast your spell while i comb my hair
let me check my emails and unfold yesterday’s threats in competition
my compassion i crave a scratched reflection resurrection the reversal
when he calls me beautiful i’m an uninhabited hag on the fence
of the internet’s open mind spread out across cyber segments
this delirious auxiliary exchange unwinding my unusual arousal

sacred act

before taking off your shoes you think you’d like to leave
you don’t know how you think you’d like to take off
the poem in your head the poems you read aloud last night
looking up at the ceiling again
directing your anger turn it into an apostrophe
something to dissect like a spine you lean back
with your shoes on move like you meant to stop stand still
stare off for a second forget to take that tone thinning out
you’re on a street named after the mountains you lived in
you’re on a street named after that small town
you’re on a street walking to buy tomatoes at the market
when the moon comes out your feet stop dancing
why do you sing like you’re talking
you take every accent on everyone else you think of
taking off shoes after you
open the door see yourself stepping onto fences making half
a face when you walk smells like the backs of buildings
heated you’re hiding from stopping your hands loosening