Jen Tynes

 

 

The Eleanor Roosevelt

Denuded does not
mean blank--has a basement
of Nigeria, accent shutters
are Iceland. Hers. No relation
to history's floral
icecap arrangement.
You'd do best to tip
yourself over.

 

 

Necessary Oversight

What honks from outside
in the evening is a “safe
ride” and the airplane

that shines toward
our bedroom window is
going to swerve

any second now.
We are pulling off

our longjohns,
wearing one stocking
each in the mourning

manner of empties,
revisiting,
you animal. Stand

mid-road and cars
will rev against
you, burn like

bourgeoisie. Like
heating up another
stranger,

emptier room.
Do not let that evening
sun go down.

Cover the covers
with the finger of
my law for you.

 

 

My Life Will Curb

No point, I crashed into the whole
building and still my programming
was to hold on boldly. Lack
of determination's a mongrel
animal, animalistic right
back at you. In a bite which
is language, you languish
in, come right back to me—
this is how young'uns fight,
like peeling an onion. Come
right back to me and tear
into the fold. We will forget all
about the customary pottage,
the local potlatch, our entire
mechanism for security: an angel
wearing a false-bottomed head
we can put to sleep whenever.