Poems from alexpelaez
The daughter, the daughter
with her tender, tired, rosy eyes
her free spirit sent down from a lofty stratosphere
to a kicked gut
pulled by...
My style rusts as fall’s fallen leaves do,
Out of practice, out of shape,
It squeaks like swing sets,
Not that you can hear it
Because you’...
This poem is about listening,
Humans muffle out white noise,
with fireblankets cotton swabbing our ears,
but the earphones of "right now"...
Our home has ben burnt into the air like
newspaper ashes with bonfire wishes, firework kisses
and the photographs are no longer of us
With...