Three Poems by Sarah Marie Miller

a moon painting in spain.

and the she

gets uncomfortably close

colors blurring the lines till they

become muddy hues muddy uncomfortable hues

til one day she sees a light raises her eyes realizes

art is her meditation realization of truth of life of getting
back to real to feel to remember to forget
she frowns a brown frown at the colors she has made
paints it black

starting from the neck of the dove who dared to
disappoint
in hungry dark chocolate hues
runs away

cries a glass of tears in your waterpark blues

homesick subterranean alien



moldementional.

everything in here smells old. moldy. filthy and covered in sweat from the seventies. sixties. my parents when they were my age and horny.
it is suede it is maroon. it is cracked and dry. it is my skin. it is my chimney stopped up for decades for fear of tenants burning the damn building down. utopia. thats what they called my apartment building. in nineteen twenty. when ladies had creme coloured lace gloves and wore perfume and crossed their legs.

whats that mold causes dementia.


(if i pull this last bit of nail off i will bleed.

i have to pull it off.)



kinkos.

in line with ipod ears buzzing signs flash buy this overpriced banner
a woman dressed to kill .herself. with some feathers and is that a clothespin sticking out of her head
a man with sportscoat and store-bought wrinkles ironed into the back of his stonewashed gap jeans


inside i am laughing at everyone and somber as can be

on the walk home i shoot out a first floor office window to push the button on the monitor of a computer left on overnight.


(to save electricity.)