Lovelorn Poets

From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: I Have A Huge…

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I have a huge... bag of kale!

I have a huge… bag of kale!

I have a huge… bag of kale!
Let me put it in you!?!?
Raw preferably, if you’re into that 😉

I don’t got no rice, bags of kale are the only thing that I like.

All you pretty dark haired, evil eyed women from larryville, bloomfield, polish hill, highland park…
I wanna share this healthy experience with all yinz.
Plenty of it to go around.

P.S. I have beer, weed and some crappy music that you probably are into as well.

Her Two Cents

 

 

baklava huge hog fee i a!
utility menu poet!?!?
weatherproof tributary nay elf i 😉

doctoring note i, breathtakingly flesh ego no a tiki lathe

parrotlike duty hear lady, informally volleyed we river me, foible mold, hill oh lips, drank high pal…
wariness hath in a capitalizer lynx wheel ye thin he.
underplaying foot toot.

overemphasis bean weeded articulatory pays by chump bop owners ail tale.

 

 

 

 

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Capote 5

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Untitled by Lohan Gunaweera

Untitled by Lohan Gunaweera

. i wonder at night which road you are on==mine seems here now, iam distaraacted by ticjk in my fur. there. he removes my collar and puts a bad smeellll between my shoulderblades and calls this “medicine” and i think i know what is good whiuch is the dirtrun. dogfree, climbtree. stuck iin territory too small for mesummer heat and often i lay on the ground, meoww on my back, and wait for petting to come by when before i would clawsteel because i was alive.

i donot know the science behind the woods or why there is wind. man mother is gone somewhere often and i tell we arew moving to myself because it is alread y written in my fur just under the bad smeell medicine .

capote

i thought i was free

why the heat
why the rain
but i amafraid of windblades
and the inside toolong
capote

are you free

are You
are you

Her Two Cents

 

 

Capote, I wonder at night which road you are on.
Capote, I thought I was free.
Capote, are you free? Are you? Are you?

I never found out who wrote the Capote poems. I never found Capote. Not that I didn’t go looking, but some things aren’t meant to be found.

 

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Fire Ditch

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Bonfire by Gonzalo Díaz Fornaro

Bonfire by Gonzalo Díaz Fornaro

Fire ditch
Babies
Family

To return to that magic moment of hope.
Found for only a moment lost for an eternity.

Like a shooting star!

 

Her Two Cents

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Babies lost
to Family Found

a Fire ditch of hope
Like a magic moment

only for that moment
return for an eternity
shooting star

 

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Beauty’s Winter

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Nixon Hotel by Dan Buczynski

Nixon Hotel by Dan Buczynski

Amongst the city’s glittering lights
your winter’s snow begins its descent,
coating, burying concrete sidewalks.
Gelid flurries bring trains of thought to a halt.
Not a soul dares step out into your cold,
all legs but mine petrified, eyes transfixed upon your glacial splendor.
Frigid air chills my lungs as I take the first steps outdoors, piercing me, a fresh breath of life
And the streets claimed by your Beauty flavor my exhale with melancholy
for here, where you are not,
your bright snow is but a temporary solace
and grey sidewalks are a fact of my life.

 

Her Two Cents

 

 

glittering lights, winter’s snow, concrete sidewalks, gelid flurries
into your cold, your glacial splendor, I take the first steps
exhale with melancholy
you are not bright snow
and grey sidewalks

 

Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: Call

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Untitled by David Kent

Untitled by David Kent

we saw you in the middle of the street while there was no traffic.
we were ten miles away and we couldn’t miss you more even while accelerating to one thousand miles an hour.
on our radio we heard of you in the middle of the street being followed by the horn of twenty thousand miles.
we were forced to a complete stop while there was no traffic.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents Iconthere was no traffic
(liar, there’s always traffic somewhere here)
one thousand miles an hour by twenty thousand miles
(20)
we. we. on. we.
(4)
we couldn’t miss you more
(OK, we believe you)
there was no traffic
(liar, there’s always traffic somewhere here)

 

 


 

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