Quinn Ferry Poems

She looks like a statue of a saint, weathered like the mermaid on the front of a ship. Promising security to those inside.
A harbor that she can't always provide.
Instead of sea worn wood of weathered stone her soul dons skin and
...

Words are often spoken too much.
They're no substitute
For touch.
People use words to fill the space in-between when they can't let silence intervene
...

I like to pretend that cigarettes and rum would make me a better writer.
A fighter like Hemingway.
A lover like Ghandi.
You know Poe wrote somewhere dark.
...

Two wrinkled faces would
seat themselves in the corner of the same restaurant.
Bodies worn by time but with two eyes that shines
for each other.
...

Everything you've ever said or read was expressed with 26 characters.
26 symbols that we use every day to convey the way we feel. A through Z.
That's relatively small, between you and me.
'I love you.'
...

I want to find words that haven't been worn like the rest.
I'll search for just the right way to convey my unrest when I hear phrases like
'Your eyes are two oceans blue.'
No.
...

There were coffee beans in the air.
And I don't remember how I got there but I do remember what brought me there.
A billion little letters in a million books-
And I wanted them all.
...

Her sheets turned,
buried in the time.
Eyes warm.
Flesh capable of a quiet voice.
...

I want to stop time for you.
The tick-tock is the heart beat of a monster that wants to eat you
but only at the rate of one small bite, every immeasurable moment because it knows you're trying to count from ten to zero like a man on anesthesia.
...

I looked up at the ceiling fan entranced like a man watching the world unwind before him.
She rolled over and stared at me and said something that I couldn't immediately hear because my mind had left my body for a while.
The voice was small and brushed my ear like the air did above me, so I took a second to savor the question that hung in the air like smoke.
I breathed it in.
...