Lora Cooley Poems

Gather like storms as the night turns its skin into coal
Dark but cluttered with gold

You are nothing less than angels cast down covered in the bloodiest mess of this world
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We move by instinct
Swinging madly
We move by instinct
Like lepers drive the doubters from our homes
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You've a pretty mouth
Left to linger on my skin
I will roll off the city's skin make you remember me
Kiss me one last time
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I say these days I'm broken
Hard as earth
Frozen still like ice collecting on my car
A perfect broken image
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At times I've shouted at the world and you
The people around me react
I think at times I'm scared
I'm like a change in topic
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Pick up the phone
Blessed are the fingers that paint the broken elbows
Coming through the window
And use your fingers
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There is a rhythm in the scraping of your tongue along your teeth
Comes across as hell inside of heaven in a feast
Where you ripped two different holes
They won't cauterize as cleanly as you think
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Children paint diagrams of God upon their hands
Hoping somewhere on this earth they can find a place to stand
They feel safer than a statue when the pain in life demands
Its fear but it understands
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Your eyes have their silence
Your most frail gesture which I cannot touch
Your slightest look will unclose me
Though I have closed myself as fingers
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I've come here
Worn out
Begging on my knees
I'm just trying
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