Poetry by Kirsten Anderson

Three poems
by Kirsten Anderson


The Pansexual Poet Parade


Those Pansexual Poets

Parade down Main Street,

Drum major kicking the air

While the banners dip in mud;

Some in drag, some in sackcloth,

Some quite starkers, others

Tucked snug into corsets,

While the crowds grumble

Those poets won't stay

In a straight line, damnit!

Why don't they write nice

about grandmas and puppies?

Behind the poets lurk agency men

With cameras, humping hope that

Two poets will get it on

With hot and heavy sestinas.

The crowds stop grumbling

And surge forward to watch.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Boulevard


ecstasy trippers dodging traffic

under last century's neon


stale products for sale

into the hours of insomnia


the air compresses, gasps

shifting in prolonged sleep


faces tighten with no expression

insect mouths piping dissonance


tar swells up in big ink spots

pulling people down, down


into the quicksand of lost souls

that creeps along street by street

++++++++++++++++++++

The Naked Poet Display


He sits in the window

Naked Poet Model #247-B

Squeezed between mannequins &

Shouting plasma wide-screened tvs

Stick-skinny arms & long-shank legs,

Skin pale & grey from lack of air

Eyes closed to perfume spritz

Poking with long fingers at

The old Olivetti script machine

Black letter words that whisper,

Drowned by comedian heckle at

Overdressed, super-injected stars,

While the crowd stick-taps the glass

Hoping he'll dangle a modifier

Or something even more intimate

To satisfy their consumer needs.


Author bio:

Kirsten Anderson divides her time between poetry and pancakes. Her recent dispatches from the writing front have appeared in HeavyGlow, Goblin Fruit, Right Hand Pointing, and the Flask Review.