Taylor Rosewood Poems

Turbocharged denizens eat organic,
while the stilled and the rusted lie dying
in the mustard. That's just how it is when
your face is tinged blue. You're guided
...

I'm in a garage and looking out,
counting the miles to an inflatable bed,
where I'll lay my bones in exiled repose,
and untangle myself from sticky threads.
...

If I could silence my mind
I would be like this glass,
more simple and sober
than a gray tablecloth,
...

The Klamath descends
out of Crater Lake Spring-
set free by the huntsman
tracking south with his dogs,
...

There's a nook or two
along the rocky shore,
where the lake is deep
and you look straight
...

Trickling down, I slide through hills,
and drizzle onto barefoot toes, soft
like figs, and tough like stones, yet
warm of color as true figs go, and
...

I'm life untethered, soaring upward
on itself, sharp of talon and lethal of
beak, leaving nothing in my wake but
warm blood and gristle.
...

While others may convene at the Big House,
I'd rather be at the flat chasing you,
or there on the floor with young Mrs. Krause,
while she told me all the things I should do.
...

I think I'll don a muscle
car and head toward
Huntington Beach.
...

A let down is a drizzle
of tiny cold drops,
beaded and clear
on a tattered soft top,
...