Poetry by John Darr

cradle

evaporate into my skin my
inner organ den

a warping wall grey pillows wove a
long my thistled membrane cave
my purell-coated  chamber,
plastic children’s playset lumined
on my switchlashed broadway stage the
furnace hums like magnifying glasses
under sun

toes dug in this polaroid
incarnation of my kindergarten
summer lawn i see
the miles
imagining a mountaintop affords
allowance stored in vestment banks

i spit 4 candle years over cake

on tiny porch our pumpkins ate
up slugs  from  soily portal glut
or gun

in shriveled pillow corner
the 30-year old hologram
of my optimal prediction
tending to a crib

cradling my blue-skinned would-be baby in your arms,
your biceps  ribboned red:
“a parent’s love is stronger than each spark you’ve ever been.”

so tourniquet your ribbon words around my heart and     clear me>




college app

please consider me
i have considered it.
i have a dream i have a mop
it sits in me
don’t let me get the
tylenol
this carpet suits my
attitude this park bench suits my
adderall i miss you
when the windows dark
at weird times in the afternoon




chainsaw

They tapped the blood of our forest,
piped syrup into their veins.
Strapped us to the bed of a truck
to be severed and disseminated.
Our legs ripped apart,
nailed to chairs in two separate junkyards.

I have seen three hundred autumns now
from seven different dumpsters.
It’s been years since I finished counting the stars.
I am running out of space between them
for my smoke as I burn. I’m silent and still.
And I burn too slowly for anyone to see.

​

Bio: John Darr is a poet, teacher and music critic from Richmond, VA. He is currently an MFA candidate at Wichita State University. 

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