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harrison

Jeff Harrison
Two Poems

Roses on Toast

roses if roses had her green thumb
her roses’ wares: roses, roses
roses that, begging pain, scare roses
roses, roses’ skulls like it with roses
she roses sing might prison us roses
roses three, she hair parts the yellow
roses’ own parched please, roses,
diamond roses, roses squeal on roses
fused roses let pour, make public blind
roses, blind roses slathered on toast
roses clicking through ash scare roses
eyes are roses to roses’ child, sweet,
sweet yes sweet roses sound like snow
roses’ suppertime, roses scarf roses’ toast
roses’ teeth being roses planet moon
dusk sends roses running raspy breathed



Sleep’s Nephews / Ignition Devils

while the Moon
decided its conscience
Sleep’s nephews were
tasting what was copied

notched, their doubles (the
ignition devils) savoring same
and agreeing, naturally, the many
set high, hastily, up among the clairvoyant
want down, eventually, when
they wake through what fancies
mechanically replicating apologists,
who, dissatisfied with sketching law,
themselves well up suddenly awake


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