by Lyn Lifshin
I remember those first ones,
tall and dark, you know the
kind. My o la la boots one
teacher said. One cat wanted
to make them his own. I’ve
had so many since then:
spike heel boots I could
never run from danger in,
platform boots that made my
legs seem twice as tall as they
are. One TV producer asked
me to pull them out from
under the bed since I talked
about boots in another
poem (and tho I’ve also
talked of men, that wasn’t
possible naturally). Some
boots have snagged favorite
dresses, torn velvet like
men but in them, I feel I can
have any man, that they will
all imagine me with them
in only these boots
*Lyn's website: http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm
January 25, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2010
(221)
-
▼
January
(34)
- AGAIN
- Rusty Chain
- The Wisdom of Poppies
- Rose-tinted
- Broken Asshole
- Dusty Bloom
- BOOTS LIKE LOVE
- fireworks in the park
- Night Sonnet No.4
- The Drunk
- Strange Blindness - Sonnenizio on a line from Stac...
- Delassandro’s Meat Market
- Dead as Dillinger
- Linden Three Seven
- my new landlord
- knees
- Tornadoes in the Parlor
- Griggs' Bar and Grill
- lord
- Vilde Berg
- One Day’s Settlement Of Chaos
- On The History Of The Red And Black Races In America
- Bombs For You
- Good View
- Forever
- MISANTHROPY
- Pedophile
- homecoming
- now and then
- THE PHOTOGRAPH, COVE POINT
- Exterminating Angel
- Way Ahead of the Game
- the gutter bible ....chapter three: a song for ch...
- housing project reunion
-
▼
January
(34)
0 comments:
Post a Comment