Marie Buck

Three Poems

~*~

*Mentally Meets the Sexcapade*



       Know a sexy,
               sweet,
               and signal--


perturbed, imbibe, in hib it you                        000

                       making me own moon he,
and lucking

for the                 rot pear tee--

               and if you're free spot year's bossed gum at may if you like what you
[sigh]

the original    blokesy verbic comes to live in our cleavage

                  TNN                  molded cups and

Harlequin temptation    (s!)       pinches 'n crumbs--

Miss Sweet, tie signal luddite've the Moth.  You're numb, you're email--

'Tis state of the art single pour technique, in a Swiss miss --
sweet sighs

and in ruptured rolling of eyes-

~*~

 

*Boys With SARS (Americana)*



Forever given PhDs,

               & clean cut like the zip of a tomato
               suchly down the sink panic ensues.


Boys right now are probably playing in the mud, in the town.
The single digit art gave a range on the bread of angels’ hairs.

& if boys breathe the permanent poison gas, an occlusion of game
               boy, I believe riding becomes the attack
               of gender behavior.  In middle school there
               was nothing required.  Comes up with an idea,
               fire in the hole.  Playing at the field championship

               we were dying to get into.   Fighting knife.
               Who has it worse?

The invisible hand is descending.  The boys’ little stars
shoot stars in my mind’s night sky.

Junior bores.  Some metro opening opens.  The future, with incorporation,

               can go to the schedule like a lone pepper.  In
               the bid under boy film stars.  Gender gap brigade hyacinth.  &

like-minded scientists give a sign, a possession that excited her.

In subjects like math comes a cat with the right moves--
               the vitamin C.  Boys
who play guitar, some of them like Penelope.  Girls

are drinking like boys.  Who doesn’t have a certain boy,

       a counter-bias?  The color of dimmed lights sprouts
like rose on your boy’s mouth.  Like a fun vampire movie,
                                  like an eternal child,

the London groundskeeper blasts, who’s being transformed, them or us

 

~*~

*Wilt the Glove*

Four-post of my problems,

Send your gentle heart on the
Day Of.  Will you follow

my counsel, Wonder Bread of

Woolen Hole?  A small and less

Weapon.  Sickling,
the special is ready,

in a candle, for you,

Pine tree of mine.

 

~*~

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