Lyndsey Cohen
Hello I Am A Crane Shaft

Yesterday I was a roaring storm,

rushing down into banks of

yellow and white wheat.

All because I wanted my potted plants.

My meat hooks and my overcoat.

To stand on your door step

And say look, I drew a picture for you.

I gathered my swords for you.

I am soft and newly born for you.

But all the days are long, you say.

So I resign myself to gentle misses,

computed hand pats from a charged out dawn.

I wait for the radio clock,

the clasp of lighting that will gather me,

and push me towards the neon sky.

Of nothing. Of nothingness.



Of Strings And Of Gold

On a cathedral neck in some great city

I weathered myself clean.

I had no way of knowing the distance.

On horseback. On stamp post.

I lit a lonely sketch of myself.

I stuck my tongue out and washed it.

So full of hope I cut my heart into other hearts.

It bled and bled and bled.

Into a buffet of half empty glasses.

Into the velvet lip of night I held myself.

It was the last logical touch,

A glittered road to some other place.



Tonight There will be a Revival

 But don’t kid yourself.

This is not the kind with God.

This is the kind with marshmallow rings.

With mosh pits and wet handshakes with a woman.

Who smells like all of the trash in Delaware.

We were born at the bottom of a lake.

We were born on a subway car in shit city.

We cried on our way up.

Life isn’t easy and right now the light is so bright.

It is so bright I said and my eyes feel like star fruit.

We hold up the babies.

They are dressed in costumes.

There is no God in this plastic blue tent.