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Taylor Gorman

Taylor Gorman’s work has appeared in the Clockwise Cat, Tertulia Magazine, and Cezanne’s Carrot. He is the former poetry-editor of LSU’s undergraduate Delta Journal and current poetry co-editor for Wichita State University’s Mojo and Mikrokosmos Journal. Taylor has an undergraduate degree from LSU in Creative Writing and he’s currently studying at WSU in Kansas.

Kissing My Father

 
 
 

Kissing My Father


Kissing My Father


Kissing My Father

 

I kiss you the way 
I kiss my father. 
It’s possible that 
Our entire bodies 
Are made of confetti, 
The way muscles are torn 
To thread back together. 
It’s possible each dream 
Is just defragmentation, 
A drunken archivist 
Misshelving our photo albums 
And dusting the sex 
Off of prom night, 
Binding with lace 
Faces lost in the afternoon. 
It’s possible that love 
Is the invention of art— 
Come as paper, 
Leave as crane— 
Unbecoming a fist 
Is like going 
From glass to sand, 
Caramel to sugar 
To cane and cane-field. 
If you don’t think 
Poetry is comedy, 
You’ve never laughed— 
Have you 
Muted the television 
And improvised 
Lives of strangers? 
I’m trying to tell you 
That the rain against the window 
Isn’t made of glass. 
I touch the discolored 
Soup bone of your skin and 
I quote the television, 
A politician is enamored with a loss, 
Foreign, lovely, and unnamable. 
Self conscious as pubic-hair, 
Your shadow, like coffee, 
Leans into the morning. 
This is the first of many times 
I will not be in love with you.