Believer in Coffee and Sensible Dates
A courtly love made into rape
A happy girl.
A name, a thought shoved into clean hands with desperation
A new
A sudden and sullen heartbeat
A ticket to the fourth of July in a paper cup
A utopian progeny, a step forward, looking of the outfit, the first out, the wonderful one
Across the entire city, this city that holds me, that keeps me asleep
all the world is my forgotten stage. I thought I was here alone
Almost knows me
And almost knows me
And awake, and awake and asleep
and its all okay
And so we tend to try to do those things that won’t kill us
and they are laughing
As the element of unbeing
Bloodburst
But just doesn’t quite
But won’t make us live either
Echoes in the birds beaks
get into the boat Betsy
get into the truck Victor
Given life
Go and go away
God’s swinging on his words, and the wound of
greenest grass singed frayed like jeans
Hanging the crowd
I get into the heart of it, I get into the me that reveals
I love to think of these things- the way the sunrises and falls over the absence of a face
I stand behind you beside you
I stand underneath you and in you, transferring all my love into these eyes
in plans
In your workyard suits and your elegant disdain
It is given no more
Jehova and the five cent love. Touring out through the special spread cosmos
Just go on, and the going on will return you will be
Know me.
Like a happy girl
Longing to be a love, to be loved
Love to revel
masterbating
me here in the ether
No matter what you do today
no one told you that you would become a computer
oh they’ve been watching
or a believer in coffee and sensible dates
scoop it up
scoop me into you
Scraping seaward
Scraping through Philadelphia
Scraping westward
so this is my first my first moment to sweep it into the brightly lit corner
Sometimes for weeks
Space
Spine of indifference
saint of the stars over culebra
Such dice-throwing avant-guardism
Tearing and torn across
That doesn’t reveal what it doesn’t reveal
that plan themselves
That slammed me down
The credit of a long line
The neutral day.
The revels
The spindle and stretch and cling in their perfect webs, across the entire city
the war was never over
them in the audience
This is what you are
This is what you are in your tortured generic friendlessness
Through vast spaces Blanchot dwarfed, defined
To be a poet with wide waterways of theory
To this I say—
Today, in the first and last reports,
Too much of this
Too much of this chugging
Under a universal arena
Until
we are all laughing together
When feeling was truck full of roots traded from the west
When he bled pink in the sun
When he sang from Paris rooftops
Who wants all and knows none
With all of you there is slice of metal
You might still wake up tomorrow
-Nina Alvarez
Poem of the Month 
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