Poems from Liam Carey
I was throwing skinny fists at the
Purples bruises of clouds
The knockout-punched remnants of prizefighting day
And the fat golden belt of...
She is far from perfect.
black fence mascara, iron wrought with pretentiousness clouds over green acres, excess of prosperity but still...
There is a holy place for boyhood memories
Deep between the ribs of bleached modern cynicism
A place we cover with expensive clothes and...
Pointless, filthy geometry on barebones of flight
Sky-blue diamonds on the wall of machine born sky-piercer
Seats of plaid ripped from...
I sit alone in your Gatling gun, Rosie Riviter spun suicide machine,
You're a jeep so desirous of ignition, your tires spin fruitlessly,...