Seth Lloyd Norris Thomas Poems

is like faking an orgasm—
everyone involved is cheated,
and anyone familiar with the rhythm of the real thing
knows it
...

Sadly,
I am quite proud of the fact that
I have invented a new You again,
but—
...

Were there tears,
pain
in the tearing—
...

I saw a picture once
of a black hole
wicking away the sun-stuff
from a nearby star,
...

All my speaking is empty;
my words are meager offerings,
toiling long and hard to bring forth
one single, solitary piece of spoiled bread;
...

Clapping,
they are always clapping for me,
but wickedly
...

Sometimes I wonder
If I am some sort of cosmic analogy
simply created to show Your bigness.
...

While I empathize with and understand
your proclivity for self-preservation, I hope
you can pardon me tonight’s chemical indiscretions.
...

Thoughts dance
as I ponder-waltz with You,
grasping at
Your liquid presence
...

Where you there, when I painted the night black?
Did you adorn the darkness with countless shards of light?
Or were you there when I formed you, sculpting the curves of your face
and pouring the coals of life into the depths of your eyes?
...