Two Poems by Coleman Bomar

Six-Legged Heart

I was the cockroach on Mom’s kitchen floor
Sliding across tile
Tendrils in the cookie jar

She was at the sink aware
Of boy with broken antennae
Holding himself like a crooked frame

Her six-legged heart
So hard to swallow

Crawling along family throat born
Sweat of wagged worn tongues
Picking through ulcer words I wanted
To feel again

But a cough

Becomes chitin Sisyphus

Maybe mouths are
Too tempting
As damp spaces
Maybe throats detour
The Heart
Maybe words are too small
For sad insect sifting


Rose Pierced and Walking

A tiger trapped in denim
Jackets
Wreathed with smoke
And cuts her own hair
Looking for bird’s nests
In letters of restaurant signs
Or on billboards

Hope is the chirping
Holes up outside her head
Having babies
Visiting often

She’s a strutting rose
Whose roots walk
The blunt end of razors
Fizzing through boney
Bits of injected arm

Fairies play metal
On her petals
When spoons stop burning
And crystals freeze over
Under the seat
Of an octagon-wheeled
Cicada-eyed
Moon-skinned
El Camino

She drives off seeking lost

As if lost be a lady
And she be a rose
Stunting without
A few grams of dirt
Needling her fertile thorns
Burying the Sun

 

Coleman Bomar is a poet who currently resides in Middle Tennessee. He’d rather write about bathroom graffiti as opposed to sunny days and dewy mornings even though he loves them. His works have been featured by Showbear Family Circus Liberal Arts Magazine, Prometheus Dreaming, and SOFTBLOW to name a few.

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