I.J. Benjamin Poems

i remember the sixth grade
and my teacher, an old gypsy woman with thick, greasy hair,
she would shout at me with a raspy,
liquor scolded voice,
...

inside the most desolate of mountains,
where nothing is,
a speck of life, exists, breaths and lives,
the little, little hearts of
...

And now my time has passed,
i have to leave,
for nothing good or bad may
last,
...

When it's late at night or thick in the afternoon,
or the traffic is the worst, or the toast machine is broken
and you are swimming through waves of sweaty crowds,
notice the squeak of the birds in the sky, the rattle of the pipes, the sound of everything so easily becoming
...

If I could just sleep,
If I could just leave day where it belongs with
you, with your teeth and your skin
that is smooth and smells of honey
...

it would just be me
and him
and we would sit on the cold floor of the side walk
and he would draw shapes in the grass with a broken
...

i tell you now,
i'll repeat these words,

be drunk,
...

i left two scars below my feet
and i am reduced to
listening to the wet sand
as the waves lick its wounds
...

Yesterday,
the most beautiful woman in the world
was going to kiss me, except, the second
before our lips touched, i fell apart
...