Freckle’d by Matthew Roskowski

ST. SYLVIA

pale mind of
the snow
which crossess
both
(centers of the poles/
cerebrum-
cerebellum(
pours down &
tips/toes)
oh,
\cavern cove,
love is
forbidden as
such, if only/
never present in
airport lobbies/
save for the
anemic stewardess
with a (heart of
cold( air pouring
out her cavity’d
tooths]
unwittingly unn-
erving my
stomach,
tugging ropes of
thoughts in
deep alcoves of my
[mind]
for patience never
sought
betrays the
love i’ve never
lost/
oh!sylvia, a
cloud of
cotton skin
soft)hemmed to
lapels of
white-faced/
wind-chafed/
love(less gentlemen,
coming home from
church, prayers
pinned to their
tongues)
with hopes of
the lips of
your saintly)kiss,
sylvia.


PLUM SEA

a twine sweater
covers your throat,
chest;
alas!
face pacific pale,
eyes blue,
/’look my way’
but to no avail(
insides filled plum,
mind dead and
dumb-sylvia swears/
ships sails stitched with
moon & glum,
along the coast,
the sea, the
shore & holy ghost/
no sentiment to
plunder, anchored in
the belgium sea)
appetites peckish,
stomachs stuffed with
salt & gull, trafficking the
steam of the sea for the
lightening to chase &
steep/sylvia swears in her
sleep)

the morning blue swells around
me.


ALL USS TOO

in a formal suit, spring does come &
so does thy breath which your soft
words sorely depend(tohell withone
another,
i must)
be being)
une existence compliant with your
hasty marrow diet/
in corduroy dresses) tangled birchwood
tresses, a wind to press an
impression (on your
painted portrait, pallid countenance/
paid for with
chewed gum pried from
tablebottoms/you slept with
a boy who
never knew your name
(was)sylvia,
not that it matters,
as you too left your
scent on my
feathered flora/
mattress”


A ROAD TRIP TOWARD SELF-DISCOVERY

stream of
wild
blue/
berries
under
pitched tent
night-sky)
a beginnings new
beginning)
thoughts thought &
re-thunk
3000 ft. above
sea-level)with
noses bloodied &
hearts
flooding/with a
fleeting interest in
the nothingness of
everything(

or
something)


Profile: Matthew Roskowski

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