Indigo Hawkins Poems

Your demand for silence is the only substitute for music
permitted on the shore of this slammed door—
a sovereignty which habitually slaughters trees.
...

purging half-sleep half-death
half-born baby of rain—all drain— drown

wet motion mythologies—
...

Life is art. I’ve seen lots of ugly art. Art which sole purpose is to be ugly,
to make a statement about ugliness.

My art doesn’t know itself.
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I hope I’m easier to speak with than
most sixty-year-olds you’ve met. I can
promise to love you always, already,
even though I’ve known you only the span
...

Forgive me. There were shouts across the screen
but I put my hand through the screen, so keen
was I to keep my secret: I would die
unless I was hooked up to a machine
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Mung beans and millet boiled in a skillet
'cause I don't own a pot. You might get shot,
out alone, my mother warned. She forgot
time zones permit less darkness between us.
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What format shall I use to spill my guts?
Whenever my mouth opens, a door shuts.

Stuck in the throes of a rage in repose,
...

adenine:
crushed diatoms, sea salt, juniper, driftwood,
sunburn, windburn, rap and indie rock, clean snow,
may beetle, cinnamon, cloves, gingerbread, campfire crackles,
...

today was orgasms and sex phantasms and
not so zingy comebacks
clothes crumpled in a corner
clingy and damp
...