Cupid Bow Mouth

The radio aches a little tune that tells a story of what the night
is thinking. It's thinking of love.
It's thinking of stabbing us to death
and leaving our bodies in a dumpster.
That's a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey and kisses for everyone."
- Little Beast

My very first experience with Ricard Siken was part 24 of You Are Jeff, the penultimate poem in this collection. It is a perfect excision of all of the things that Siken excels at - poetry as sublime, but with a grounded rawness that makes it all too real. Reading You Are Jeff sent me on a hunt for Crush and inspired expectations that were easily met by the gorgeous collection that Siken pulled together.

Crush is everything! Desperate and needy, as much blunt force trauma as it is delicate and subtle. Siken draws threads together, weaving a tapestry of human emotion. The poetry is at times opaque and insists upon the readers complete focus and dedication to puling apart those threads, and at others it is gorgeously simple and utterly truthful. There are layers and layers of meaning that reflect the complexity of love, identity, and heartbreak. It tackles self destruction, the tragedy of pinning down and freely expressing sexual identity in a hostile culture, the devastating strangeness of finding love and losing it - as well as the spare, elegant place between the two moments, the questions of how do you know, and the terror of reaching out. There is nothing easy about Crush and I love that about it

Do you guys remember my beloved Stellabelle? Stellabelle from my rip-roaring adventures in London, not quite two years ago? Back when I was young and mostly carefree? Back when I believed in sunshine, futures, friends, and the opposite sex?

Do you remember her? Probably not.

I thought so.

Well, here's your introduction. I googled her name because I miss her and I haven't spoken to her in a couple of months. I've been like that lately. Last I heard she had moved into a brand new place with her honey and all was right with the world. She deserves it. Anyway, Stellabelle is a writer, a poet, a philosopher and I found one of her poems.

Enjoy:

originally posted here

To Cigarettes
by Nicole Hefner

Truth, I said, truth,
even though I loved lying.
No, P. said, screw you,
you’ve got to dare.
Whatever, I said,
and you were in my mouth,
out behind the Steak & Ale,
under the red eaves,
over the hot cement, oily puddles.
You were in my mouth,
and P. said,
It gets better,
and maybe I thought
she was talking about life
or algebra or figuring
out tampons or kissing
with our eyes closed.
It gets better,
she said, and I didn’t
know she meant you—
how you would become
my morning, my
afternoon, my just one more,
my with a coffee,
with a beer, my
after heartbreak, after cheesecake.
You took me over, baby.
Came a long way, baby.
Took my breath away, baby,
and when I wanted to leave you—
because I never stay—
I had to burn the house down
to lose the smell of you.
Now I stand,
under the Marlboro moon,
cock-eyed, angry and naked,
waiting for a minute
when I don’t want you.

yuki_onna reviews Stephanie Bolster's White Stone: the Alice Poems.

Included is a most excellent poem from the book. Portrait of Alice with Persephone