lisa hannah

poetry and writing

Somersaults of any type

You strong lad, strong or just learning?

Cans legs kids scream loud material

you land in railing stones

‘Linda me legs Linda!’

Laughing embankment spirit jump

 

View jumper

breaking should be used

to break the mat of bank

if you lose control

when you are jumping

on the adventure mess

on the same spot that you took the basic bounces

smell it rat boy

 

First confident

And how to jump

shouldn’t be trampoline

the technique you should practice

control jump is n't

know what poetry

lose balance

tracks off a cut lip

Tapping, tapping, tapping

and getting injured by landing on frame springs

The skill of a bounce

all you need

somersaults of any type

backwards or forwards

 

You know

what poetry

Oil-spill would stop your jump,

sitting around considering the landing

Or the mud stink

You know what’s poetry

might lose control

Jump in

Free from adult

 

Each this will allow

That’s why she asked me

if you do you will

whenever you happen will

increase your risk

of scruffy hair shoes pants

To do is knees flex sharply

Say where’s the money completely because

somersault flips do not perform

 

Bend your shins sharply

Care free wet not rainy

Or if you careless

dirty dangerous

dangling legs wet foot sloppy

You regain control 

Welcome

Recent Photos

Poems

Midnight Write: The Moth

 

Pills curtail the growth of the penis, testes;

allow the mammary glands to swell,

the Adam's apple to withdraw, the hips to protrude.

Erectile tissue loses sensitivity

as it flattens out but as

oestrogen floods the canal, we see

folds of the labia major.  Here.

Like two great wings.  This swelling is later tied

to give the appearance of a clitoral hood.

 

And next ? Angelica's gaze moved from the drawing to the rubber pipe.

 

Formaldehyde.

 

Time

For years she said she could feel things

moving in her ribcage after the birth.

Every night her legs pissed with terror.

There was something undelivered,

that the hospital left inside, alive

and writhing like a parasite

puppy with its eyes still closed,

snuffing for milk.

Her chest is soft as a palate,

where her ribs fan out,

where they fanned out in pregnancy,

like wings.

Partly see-through liquids

swell the mattress

leaving sores for the mortician.

Her skin creosotes like fencing

bubbling up sap,

protective

but the spine, blisters wet,

from both shoulders,

up

the

head,

to burst

occipital,

garrotting

the

neck.

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