Russ Cope Poem

Anathema
A Russ Cope Poem

Anathema, the old folks
say, and the town people
say, leaving the unfortunate
isolated and alone

out of what could be new
and promising, but it's just
a walking by curse.

Russ Cope Poem

Deer Head Trophy
A Russ Cope Poem

A deer head trophy
on the wall, made of real
animal, talks to me.

Why did you, why did you
do this to me, it says
over and over again into
my own spiraling darkness.

Russ Cope Poem

RoadKill
by Russ Cope

It's a rain-swishing kind
of day when I am stopped
at the red light.  

The truck in front of me
is loaded down with branches,
leaves, wooden flats.

A bit of what looks like 
foliage sits still at the side
of the road.

The passenger hops out, gives
it a tap of the foot to avoid
teeth, and then hoists it in 
the air.

It is like a stiff, glued carpet
and he plops it in the back,
pulling away, 
leaving me thinking about life.

Russ Cope Poem

Giant

A Russ Cope Poem

A giant washed up on shore

today

from God knows where

We played in his bones

until mother made us come inside,

and we stunk to high heaven

That night, we showered luxuriously

and planned how we would

build swords out of the rib cage

But his body was gone the next

day and we never found him again,

and what’s worst

is mother threw our baseball cards

and childhoods away

while we were gone at the beach.

Russ Cope Poem

No Face

A Russ Cope Poem

It’s honest to God the best

interview I’ve ever seen, people

pawing over a new piece

of tech, rolling it in their hands

like a joint and cooing like doves.

The last person interviewed sealed

the deal.  Underneath her wide brim

straw hat, there was no face, only a sound

coming out,

describing how she needed a new phone.

Just perfect.

Russ Cope Poem

Fang

A Russ Cope Poem

Today we found a tooth

made of stone, impressed in rock.

It’s probably the earliest known

specimen of fang, long before

we were walking out of the soup

and learning how to devour

each other.

I  imagine I could build a whole

animal around this one piece,

just start with the tooth

and go from there, slapping on skin,

hair, jewelry, neuroses, and therapy.

Russ Cope Poem

My Wooden Boyfriend

A Russ Cope Poem

Cami tells me her boyfriend

is made of wood.   I imagined

it as some kind of metaphor,

then I met him.

He stood in the doorway like

some dime store cigar Indian.

I can’t imagine how she pulls

the splinter out of her tongue.