poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Friday, December 18, 2015

Hartshorn


Kiss me on the wrists—
such a rich, warm color.
Lime roses rise to my lips,
kiss me on the wrists.

Hartshorn is the crushed up petal
of the rose that grows at the end of a unicorn horn:
ladies snort it
to feel better about the blooms

at the end of unicornism.
Winter is gone forever:
we sold it.
Even the horse-chestnut is a kind of heart.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

When we are both water and I can’t sleep


When we are both water and I can’t sleep
the tides pull you to the edge of the loft,
below in the kitchen, I am writing 2AM
poems about mirror neurons and Emerson’s oversoul,
the tides pull you to the edge of the loft
microwaving leftover mac and cheese and mirror neurons and oversouls
so hungry for air and vaguely scared of love that locks
microwaving leftover mac and cheese sizzles and burns
and you call “What are you doing?” so hungry for air and vaguely scared
of love that locks in the kitchen. I am writing 2AM cheese
sizzles and burns and you call “What are you doing?”
the macaroni oversoul: You know exactly
—I am writing 2AM mirror neurons—
what I am doing,  poems to go with sleeplessness
and cheese, You know exactly
if mirror neurons are real and we can explode
what I am doing, watching movies where people explode.
My heart is beating too fast if mirror neurons are real
and we can explode and if I came back to bed your heart
would sync up with mine. In movies people explode.
My heart is beating too fast so I came here to eat cheese,
I came here to eat cheese, find me, nibble and if I come back to bed
your heart will sync up with mine. What am I doing?
Eating cheese when we are both night mice and I can’t sleep,
when we are both water in the 2AM boil.