Julie Bond Poems

This Girl In The Dark
Has a beautiful face without a name
And a beautiful smile to hide the pain
This Girl In the Dark
...

I never could smell smoke, not on your sighs
or greying drifts among the ceiling beams.
You'd slip out, say you watched Orion rise
or got the mail. And if your finger seams
...

Thunder purrs its way across the state
and I lie low and wonder if the gable
will hold fast to its nails. The cats berate
me from the dusty cellar. But on cable
...

Crimson red

Lipstick letters
...

The butterflies should find another haunt.
Their favorite plant out in the garden died
but we took it for winter's grey and gaunt
inertia, passing with the season's tide.
...

His eyes are arguing about the world,
if it is bright or shadowed, if the sun
ate clouds for breakfast or sat, sulky-twirled
its thumbs in heavy-curtained chambers. One
...

Ohio folds itself like a green pleat
beneath my stride. The air is webbed with blue
and bluebottles that sail in birring fleets
from dead to atrophying dead. Tattoos
...

Fat pigeons chirruped in the rafters, wild
as sleeping puppies. If I held the bread
just right they fluttered chortling down and filed
along my arm, plankwalkers. Feathers piled
...

They have a generator up the street
because the power flickers at a cloud.
The surging rumble proves an indiscreet
reminder of their cellar, and the crowd
...

We're Frankenstein creations-faces built
by happenstance of Igor-scavenged shreds.
My father's eyes, my cousin's smile, atilt
and strangely loved on unknown cipher heads
...