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  August 2009
volume 7 number 2
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  contributing poets
  Azure Antoinette
  Theresa Antonia
  Catherine Berry
  Mary Rose Betten
  Richard Burrill
  David Christensen
  Kathrine David
  Holly Day
  kumari de Silva
  Kenneth Gurney
  Paul Hellweg
  Thea Iberall
  Kathleen Kenny
  Tracy Koretsky
  Marie Lecrivain
  H.E. Mantel
  Rick Marlatt
  Augusto Munoz
  Sergio Ortiz
  Yelena and Roman Tunkel
  Carmen Vega
  John Sibley Williams
  Amye Wilson
  Seth Woolf
 
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Kenneth Gurney
August 2009
   

 

bio


    Kenneth P. Gurney is the crazy gypsy, Euro-mutt who produces Origami Condom and purchases surreal-estate with his leftover pocket change at the end of the day. His poems show up in a wide range of publications on the web and in print. His temporal existence is now in Albuquerque, NM.

   

 

Decoration

You grab my cock
with hands purpled by violets,
abandon the pleasure
of Sunday, of holy wine
and fresh baked bread.

You tell me of roll reversals—
how I hold the apple
and you are the snake—
while you stroke
a distant sea with my oar.

You impale your restless breath
while kneeling in prayer,
while shouting the name
of a man covered with stone
at the edge of a distant town.

You add my skin, my blood,
to the deep, dark earth
beneath your fingernails.
You defend your claim to innocence
by turning into a swan.

Fly away milk-white girl.
Deliberately fly past the stones
that crush Arlington’s green lawns,
that silence the bright sun
on the blue Potomac.

Your marble kisses beg for moss,
for bones beneath flowers,
a grave event you replay
behind your sleep-deprived eyes
though you were no witness.

You fuck to push aside the tears,
the unspoken pain of abandonment,
the violet color of a heart pinned
to a breathless life that never returned
to the comfort of your thighs.

copyright 2008 Kenneth Gurney