Poetry By Harley Claes

​THE RECLUSE BLUES

Touch me I'm sick with the recluse blues
curling up inside myself,
marionette strings gathering like leaves.
I long for love but settle with lust-
for the pain that follows the precursor
is a longing that cannot be quenched,
just picked at like a scab.




I AM THE MAUSOLEUM

Routinely being used, the body discarded
Insults fly on the tip of the tongue,
with each trick of the hand the damage tempts to be undone
But time comes night,
and the memories suffice
​with a mind injured by sleep

​

Harley Claes is a poet and novelist from Detroit, Michigan. Her first Poetry anthology is titled 'Pity the Poetics.' She attended an all arts school majoring in Creative Writing and minoring in dance. Her website is harleyclaes.wixsite.com/author 

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