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Limited Range of Motion
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:The events were like links on a bracelet
:the clasp lodged in my throat.
An apple rots at the base of a tree,
my skin damp from early morning,
and the scent of singed hair drifts
east. I can still hear the bells tolling,
the wings settlng.
:The orchard sings the way skin tastes
on my tongue.
:Your skin that summer, your knuckles,
your cock in my mouth.
:New Jersey made me reckless
but not That reckless.
Baby Jesus watched from the living room
while I smiled and hated your parents.
:A bead formed on my hypothalamus
:because your mother's teeth were white & straight.
mon petite garcon, affreux jojo
:We were mad as daisies.
We slid through the atmosphere
and skidded on the stars.
:Suzie kept her mouth shut.
Next month at the rest stop she'll see the ocean in a sink
and hooked water will clog the drain.
While apples turn from green to red
: links hanging on a slender wrist.
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Writer
Bio
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Suzanne Frischkorn is the author of two volumes of poetry, The Tactile Sense (Alpha Beat Press, 1996) and Exhale (S.O.P., 2000). In addition, her poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including Pif Magazine, Exquisite Corpse, In Posse Review, Wisconsin Review, Salt River Review, Mangrove, and The Paterson Literary Review. She was a finalist for the 2001 Allen Ginsberg Award and is associate editor of Samsara Quarterly.
sfrischkorn@hotmail.com
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Other
Pedestal Published Works
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