tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29376257904142445602024-02-20T10:17:33.189-08:00The Future PerfektMatthew Hartyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17544257906814306983noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2937625790414244560.post-63268677750391851972010-10-05T09:23:00.001-07:002010-10-07T13:20:47.685-07:00Winter Skin<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoHeader, li.MsoHeader, div.MsoHeader { margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoFooter, li.MsoFooter, div.MsoFooter { margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }span.HeaderChar { }span.FooterChar { }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Winter Skin</span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">There’s a crack in your skin<br />that opened and gobbled up<br />your freckles whole,<br />the freckles that hid<br />(from your <i style="">dark passenger</i>)<br />on the bridge of your nose,<br />and on your cheeks,<br />where your blood now pools.<br /><br />The gravity of winter’s dry silence<br />nursed the moisture from your skin,<br /><br />flakes fell to your floors of<br />jaundiced linoleum,<br />blanketed your favourite things<br />(the things that fail to crack<br />a grin, or a memory)<br />with a layer of neglect,<br />and became<br />indistinguishable<br />from dust.<br /><br />Your sun-stained skin,<br />your glow: swept up<br />with a broom of gray straw<br />(that once, too, was golden)<br />and an oxidised pan,<br />along with all the other<br />detritus and dead things<br />we no longer<br />consider<br /><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span style=""> </span>(beautiful.)</span></p>Matthew Hartyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17544257906814306983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2937625790414244560.post-1391476418293267532010-10-03T18:30:00.000-07:002010-10-04T23:05:45.223-07:00Snow Eater<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><u>Snow Eater</u></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">A poltergeist<br />teases the ice<br />cemented to my window,<span style=""> </span><br />fervent, like a raptured toddler.<br />Snuck past sleeping giants,<br />huddled<br />against the fa</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;" lang="FR">ç</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">ades<br />of my buried fortress,<br />giants<br />that do not stir.</span></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Helvetica;">Its relentless,<br />clumsy gait<br />derails trains, fells<br />ramshackle hamlets,<br />turns tundra tropic.<br />Flays January’s comfort blanket<br />from loam—<br />the blanket that<br />steals sleepy breath,<br />cozy dreams;<br />freezes coyote lungs.<br /><br />Hurricane prairie monster.<br />It’s arrived.<br /><br /><i style="">Warm. Moist. Heavy.<br /><br /></i>Violent.<br /> <br /> </span>Matthew Hartyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17544257906814306983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2937625790414244560.post-77361829027965675172010-09-18T17:29:00.000-07:002010-10-03T18:41:14.679-07:00Dough<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Dough</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am dough;<br />Hold me in your palm.<br />There I will rest<br />And warm your clay hands,<br />Where blood has fled to safer havens.<br /><br />Squeeze me; hold me tight.<br />Like a tree promises its leaves<br />That they, one day, will fall,<br />I will slip through your fingers<br />As darkness escapes an open drawer.</p>Matthew Hartyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17544257906814306983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2937625790414244560.post-9121251953182855002010-09-17T01:34:00.000-07:002010-09-17T01:40:14.049-07:00Tiny Floating Tin Boats<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><u>Tiny Floating Tin Boats</u></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal">I feel sorry for the patient stars<br />Watching us watch them<br />From distances only light can travel<br />Waiting for us to greet them<br />From tiny floating tin boats<br />Bearing flowers born of the corpses of dead men.</p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal">Planets passed will line the streets<br />Like tin soldiers in a dollar store fiction<br />With hung heads hiding timorous faces<br />From thin-crusted sailors<br />In tiny floating tin boats<br />Seeking to set flame to burning immortal shores.<br /><br />We will call our mothers from tin can telephones.<br />Our ingenuous words will travel the length of that taut string.<br />But our string will have snapped:<br />Prudence is not a virtue of a child.<br />Our tiny floating tin boats will rust<br />And the stars will revile at our asininity.</p>Matthew Hartyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17544257906814306983noreply@blogger.com0