LA Weekly is now taking poetry submissions. Interested in having your work posted right here on our arts blog? Send previously unpublished poems along with an image to go with it to firstname.lastname@example.org. Check out today's poem after the jump.
Brushes, not sticks
By Leigh White
I can't sucker punch your corneas into epiphanies
As much as I'd like to try
(I wanted you) to kiss me
A soft genuine first American kiss
Not a deep sloppy French kiss that just tries too damn hard
The artist Michael Hussar
likes the way my brushes move
Hussar looks at me with fireflies of understanding
in the abandoned winter of Spring Street
He sees me, skull and all
With lightning bolts
and thrift store cherubs in hand,
I am trying to swim past the Hollywood machine to get
to the meat
to the viscera
it's not working
I will never meet
walks away into his glorious sunset blvd., sticks in hand
and I walk towards my PCH sunset,
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and let go of the stones in my hands
They were too damn heavy
My sun is 45 miles away
And doesn't give me cancer...