Joel Kemp's Recent Articles

Unification

Mon, 05 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0100

When I look
at people �
I see myself,
but
mutated:
transformed;
the same.

Godel

Sun, 30 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0100

I once played
a game �
involving a poem
whose lines,
words,
and syllables,
described a poem
about a game �
I once played.

Pirates

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0100

For there
is
booty everywhere �
treasure �
that another man
has claimed;
proof in parenthood.

Mucus

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0100

How does mucus taste?
for I have never,
but always curious.

Sticky greens
and yellows
that you seem to enjoy;
slow descent
with amylase �
no haste �

Your stomach,
now glowing,
with mucus
from the lot.

34th Street

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0100

I saw a man,
on a railroad track.

He pulled his
rodent-ridden blanket
to prevent the cold �
nestled into a ball �
on his back.

Atop the rumble
of trains and
passengers that grumble �
he slept through
Spring, Summer, and Fall.

Did you see him not?
or maybe you forgot �
reading Victoria�s catalog
while your brother rots�

Children

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0100

No book shall ever
capture this crowd:
the clasps of praying hands,
salted excrement curing
the cheeks �
of children.

Crying child,
now, have reason to smile �
for you and I
are no longer exiled
with intra-national wounds.

Her Epic

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0100

On a foggy Tuesday night,
stars asleep from celebration,
moisture from stratus
settled on our faces.

It was that second
of reflectance�
the mood
stuck in your skin �
a syringe of sticky saliva:
deprived of moisture,
seeking sustenance �
in sin.

The sense of scent,
Fructis seared
nostril walls �
and with the burn
hypox~ia
but valves never
so active.

Creaking black wheels
inched involuntarily.
My hand hovered
and held
subtle hairs
of faded beauty.

Hot breath:
innards of life
for any dehydrated lips �
false quenched
by rancid reductions
of romance �

May I forever dream
of that embrace;
and have it haunt
my stasis �
my sleep in sheets
whose lint spells
goddess � your name.

Incubation

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0100

Cities �
like colonies
of parasites;
feeding,
near barren blacks.

And I swear,
I can see the lights �
spell out death;
soon-lit trees.

Silence

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0100

At night,
above the clouds,
there is no Earth.

The moon shines over
still swaying mounds �
a sea of vapor
beyond human definitions.

Up here:
in stratus �
there is only
silence.

Ugly

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0100

But I cannot cease
in staring �
the lack of symmetry,
bumps, bruises, vestiges
of limbs that weighed your face.

I can see it:
the beauty;
the tale of your creation
reads with every imperfection�
the war between patience
and completion.