Let’s get out of this country,

away from the ambits of pride

& psychology to that of skin.

Having curled my last tail

of resignation, it is disquieting

to know you are there in the darkness

telling stories about giants

& searching subway tunnels for sound

while I hold the phone

like a secret in the middle

of the night, standing as still

as the trees before the vicissitude

of fortune untightens like the wind

& shifts from static to caution

Baby, I’m Nauseous Again

poems by jackie clark

Jackie Clark is a poet living in Jersey City, NJ.  She is currently an MFA student at The New School in New York, where she is also a reader for LIT.  Some of her writing has appeared in XConnect and Capgun.  More of her work can be found at http://nohelpforthat.blogspot.com.

What You Think About Afterward

Before I leave your place, you tell

me that our time together is precious,

which makes me barely able to keep down

the hard-boiled eggs we watched float

to the surface just moments ago.  How

embarrassing, that this word should be

the result of my pants hanging off the lamp

last night.  I mean, it’s not that I’m not

sentimental but really one could go out

to the corner anytime of day & count

the cars that go by, nodding to each little

face behind the electric-powered glass

& that could be considered a moment. 

No one should be asked to handle

Metro so early, or this morning, Pam

Anderson without botox.  I still get a kick

out of buying fruit on the corner & I’m sure

that even the man with the fruit knows

that precious is a quaint way of making

something untouchable. Imagine if he spent

the entire day trying to sell precious asparagus