Mark Money

Mark Money Poems

at home in her highrise
she's intentionally vague
about what time she goes to bed.
imagery spills out in the darkness:
...

picking my way 'neath a murky moon
winding around the shapes and shadows
past dreams i could have bought on the cheap.
i hear some words i don't understand
...

she said 'think it over'
so i did.
and i think it's over.
...

Don Marquis said it:

'classical music is music that threatens every other bar to develop a tune, and then disappoints you.'
...

the storm clouds have scudded across north.
i pull the covers over me and sleep
unafraid that thunder will find me.
...

3: 01a.m.
i snap off the light
and lie on my side in the oversized bed.
sleep won't come i've had so much rest
...

unstable as driftwood
blinded by her beauty
i have no choice but to travel the dog winds.
...

She was like asbestos;
Sure, she was fireproof, but she took my breath away.
I had to limit my exposure.
...

sometimes there’s a breath
of perfume in the air
it lays low
waiting for movement to stir it up
...

11.

it's two hours past the time
she said she'd be here

i left the front door unlocked
...

but this one makes five if you count it.
...

i saw a flash from a cigarette tossed
onto the asphalt from a speeding car.
tiny sparks swirled in the breeze
before twinking out in the sticky darkness.
...

14.

i click the light off
and reach out toward my wife
who is already asleep among the covers and pillows
that make her
...

(how memories flood over you like rain
and how you remember voices that you can no longer hear)

out of the vastness
...

No more poem.
no more convenient ear.
any crying out now
will have to be done to silence;
...

360
degree
circle
where
...

It was the shimmer of headlights that caught my eye.
cutting through the darkness like a spear;
like it was waiting there just to gut me.
...

I blink once
then again
trying to clear the clouds from my eyes.
the sun is cut in half by the horizon
...

she calls from the bedroom
using that sleepy voice
sounding like she's been dreaming
and only awakened long enough
...

Mark Money Biography

Born in Kansas City, raised in Tulsa, living in the Chicago suburbs.)

The Best Poem Of Mark Money

What Time She Goes To Bed

at home in her highrise
she's intentionally vague
about what time she goes to bed.
imagery spills out in the darkness:
it overflows the drawers in the TV stand;
perches on the bookshelf saved 'til later
when it's lighter

her cat is disturbed by awkward breathing
but doesn't tell what time she goes to bed.
a Frenchwoman's dreaming-
she missed the clouds so much, she had some imported.
she laughs if you bring it up.

no, the lights of the park don't keep her awake;
the noise, the smell of the brats,
the taste of her skim latte;
she's asleep under her imported clouds.
(mon amie) a Frenchwoman's dream
just a bed in a highrise
with the imagery scattered everywhere.


(1994-Tulsa, OK)

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