Tag Archives: Justin Robinson

strikes matches through alleys under bridges finding me eggshells in my palms she whispers: flesh is a constraint that splits overshadows our illuminations her words shift into pigeons circling my feet I continue to look away she disappears —feathers hanging … Continue reading →

leaning with a lighted candle you drew my eyes bare you stroked my face into the mirror trained me to whistle freedom fled with the burning afternoon your shadow grew roots along crimson mountainsides silent steps split the wind to … Continue reading →

rain runs in droplets down the side of our house bleeding family photos pale leaves amnesia on our tongues flowing over grass-covered graves toward speech between ripples in the creek Justin Robinson is an MFA candidate at San Francisco State … Continue reading →

my friend told me light sockets chase her like ghosts in metallic mirrors she spoke of three-holed faces, shooting sparks said her head was a spider that built nests out of my company while I sat in her straight chair … Continue reading →

burned his peers’ pupils. He said: nature reclaims cities leaves skies cracked & peeled. He fell to the walk like a feather. Now I dress in tame colors, sift through wind strewn newspapers blanketing the cliff’s edge. Evening draws the … Continue reading →

opens a window to release his metallic laughter glues white boxes to his lipstick stained ears & dances for you in the mirror of a match lit mouth chatting your smoke filled hours with sand flea eyes promising rain to … Continue reading →

Life broke him like the spine of a book shelved his identities neatly across the length of his arms —gave him faces to fill stories & poems. He lived on a stairwell split in two. Off nights he stood over … Continue reading →