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Tyler Wilcox Poems
Try Try Try
Theres a poem hidden somewhere In the rosebud end of a cigarette; But I can't find it when I try. I think there's a metaphor in that.
Femininity In A Rain Coat
You awoke early And shouted at the sunrise. Hair like medusa, Spread violently from your head
A cossack firing squad Each round an anxiety No ceasefire could quell.
A Death In The Family
A horde of bathers overlooking Young couples copulating under the dock With their genitals a signal and Pot smoke drifting off the open ocean.
Mon couer est a toi pour toujours Is how you sang me to sleep Your voice was comforting Whispering sweet things
I feel translucent; Fevered though I may be, My corporeal devotee leaves me White, and substance less as a specter
The moonlight sparkles On the shimmer and sex Hidden inches away under ocean waves A teenage longing
Sometimes when I go to theme parks I find the highest ride I can That will shoot me straight up I make it a point to go on this ride
Your scent lingers Long after you're gone. Your body is a canvas You paint in reds and blues
Rose colored lenses Paint you in scarlet hues But tinted lenses lie. Your image projects
Sometimes You bite your lip When you don't know what to say. All I can say is,
Naked breezes blow strong on warm fleshy autumn bodies Hanging upside down from the cracks of your statement. Rapunzell underneath the window of her secret room Where golden locks fly in the unfamiliar night.
'La Petit Mort'
La petit mort I die each night Is nothing compared To your struggle
Young bodies Thrust together at the hips Collide violently Expel sparks
Comments about Tyler Wilcox
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Try Try Try
Theres a poem hidden somewhere
In the rosebud end of a cigarette;
But I can't find it when I try.
I think there's a metaphor in that.
There's a metaphor somewhere in the way
Your coat drops to the floor or the way
You twist and turn like a matador and you
Swirl your cape, like I twirl myself around your sex.