Poetry
Valentines
by Thomas Cook
For Kissing at the Movies:
Why do you bear in your hands the broken weapon of death? I remember we already saw that one. I had followed you for a long time wherever you fled and I mentioned my idea to tell the story in pictures of words. What bird is with you? This? This is a rose. It grows tall and direct in front of the fence. Why do you sit lazily on the cover of a vat? I found a nice lawn to lie down on and wait for the natural shade to allow green these flowers. Why is your robe green? The facts and perhaps more delicate bones.
For Surprise:
What monster is that? I could imagine when you water your rock tree this is the time for me to save you. You say no. Your balance your tongue. There is what form in this garden? Simple blight. I have seen it once I have seen it like letters of the alphabet. What is pleasant to digestion? If it is not the thousand ways the hose may dent off the un-calm rocks or winding it rather back up onto the carousel of natural invention it is someone who will defense it into oblivion as pleasing as the oak tree.
For Chipping Paint Slowly From a Flower Box;
Now touch my breathing machine this small machine between my greatest invention a tiny machine I am skipping the rock path down the rest of the way. Seeing how this will make bestarred my breath my only symbol of envy I wear clothing and sacrifice and light chains so such blankets so fame goes on.
For Inside a Gazebo
The blue fire of your dress is enough to keep me under, catch me in numbers, or anagram utterance. Come down over the white fence and I'll compose while a neighbor interrupts his drama television and you watch and pluck me up by my bronze toe. This lovely archway you have greeted me under-I would whisper to these bricks myself.