Charles Malcolm Poems

Every word is unread.
Songs and signals
ignored or dismissed.
This irrational
...

He hung up
and she became
a circular saw in a silk nightgown.
...

Everything tastes of boiled spinach
without you.
Cash becomes dryer lint.
Staircases futile.
...

One more
and I can write my wrongs.

A couple of glasses
...

On those rare days
that I woke up before you
I would watch you sleep.
Your breasts
...

when the sun rises at noon
tires spinning
responsibilities in the rear view.
Cutting corners
...

I smile at the buzz.

I could stand on my desk
yank the cord
...

The moon hangs beneath the power lines
so distant
and they're still singing.
The air tastes like a bonfire
...

Her body was half
shrouded in darkness,
dancing in place
on the halo's
...

I can't force the words
to come
like you can me,
but the method is identical.
...