Tag Archives: John Tustin

Most Mornings (After Reading Du Fu)

I see with newer eyes most mornings. Not seeing well, just newer. You are not here and I am not there, The reasons many. It’s nearly nighttime now and already dark, I sit in raggedy pajamas as the soup simmers … Continue reading

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Love Bends the Branches

I walk out in the night With my face against the good cool wind, Hearing the branches bend Around the music in my ears. My hair just the way I like it, Staring at the silhouette Of my funnily affected … Continue reading

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What If Today Is the Day

What if today is the day That I will write the last poem I will ever write And all the poems after will just be Versions of the same poems I keep writing and writing? I’m just another man abandoned … Continue reading

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Why Did You Dye Your Hair?

Why did you dye your hair? Why did you do it? Your little porcelain hands, your delicate doll face, fevered eyes, once framed by black hair, now stained with a platinum cotton candy atrocity! Why did you do it? Were … Continue reading

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Waiting on the Walls

waiting on the walls faithlessly peeling waiting on the wheels mercilessly spinning waiting on the silence of the shivering night waiting on the love never delivered waiting on the truth never delivered waiting on the promise never received waiting on … Continue reading

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Speaking With Our Fingers

Speaking with our fingers as our mouths mutter mundanely, as our eyes betray us insanely, as our hearts stumble over clods and brambles, in a hollowed shambles, bitching and bitterness, attempting to scale walls of woman, of man, of unholy, … Continue reading

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Jesus in the Wine

Jesus is in the wine but the devil’s in the flesh Adam’s original sin pumps through the veins The wine fills us The flesh kills us The heart wills us Time stills us The heart dilutes the wine pumps the … Continue reading

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The Window

When one door closes, sometimes another one opens. And if not, there’s always the window. Too bad I live on the thirty-seventh floor. John Tustin hates to write third-person bios. http://fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry is his link.

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Underwear Teeth

My three-year-old daughter just called me “Underwear Teeth.” and it was more clever than anything I’ve ever heard my next-door neighbor, my wife, or my last three bosses say. She is destined for disappointment. John Tustin hates to write third-person … Continue reading

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Unnamed

why should I say your name when you consist of magical things unnamed? why should I mark the time without you when you are water, you are fire, you are hunger and thirst and satiety? why should I cry at … Continue reading

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Remove

Remove the buttons. Remove the bonnet. Remove the bodice. Remove the corset. Remove the laces. Remove the overlays. Remove the underthings. Remove the accoutrement. Remove the powder. Remove the paint. Remove the liquor. Remove the lacquer. Remove the dots from … Continue reading

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Confetti

Your body explodes like confetti over my bed. I scramble to reassemble you. My nearly sleeping mind is surrounded by your scent and your parts and your mouth and your tongue. Burning at your alter, smoldering like old wood, you … Continue reading

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