Poetry Suite by Nikki Allen
“I punched
cloud of my coat under arm and quietly
left.”
Poetry by Nikki Allen
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conversations with haunted things
(in the middle of a cornfield, magic hour, mid-October)
Wolf slips on a woman’s ankle-length silk, slowly snaps the back of pearl earring, careful claw reflected; applies red riding’s hue to prickled lips and waits.
There is an orchestra of instrument and argument, a thing both blaring out and barely--our heartbeats sounding like punk song and crickets.
When I let go, what will I miss the most? The tigers in your fingers? The way all nightmares stood arms open just after threshold, pain pouring out of pockets in the drawers?
The apple browns around the teeth marks, wobbles on ground among husks like the pages of our story maybe a hundred revolutions from now.
Here. Let me walk you home.
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james
He woke with a quote bubble of vomit
soaking the carpet//no this is not true--
I woke and saw this, he slept. I punched
cloud of my coat under arm and quietly
left. Image stayed stitched as I steered--
knew turns without knowing, took long way
home. Phone rings and rings and rings.
I let her. Apologies follow in person, a
crescent of scar splitting brow where ring
was. I don't know why or what or how or
who he said. That day. That month. Full year.
Tiger in our penny jar. I mouth your name to
the sink full of booze. By then cerulean eyes over
shoe polish grins. We remove ripped magazine
pages from the wall with more care than
we ever kissed.
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queen’s curse
To the one who deemed me trash
unworthy, not of her time
I send rookery alongside reptilian congregation
their sloshed waters spilling like
dark thread between teeth.
Every night may bed go soaked,
may sink be rotted and furred.
For the thief I gift belly of concrete
flock of tongues on hunt, arteries whipping
new dry air, old death.
May your rust
rust.
Make her saliva wept from stinger,
make darling bed fall through floor--how dreamlike
feathers from this tumble land,
how uncertain even ground may greet--
may perfumed skin now house bones of twig,
may smack of jellyfish
electrify your meat.
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in love
fingerprint slid down side of egg shell--pause. hold that fragment of light just west of your page. put your shoulders against wall, like that. let me look at you. let me make you breakfast. let me leave you alone. i'll write it down and i'll scar the walls and i'll hand over tough. i'll douse whatever stings. i'll dig out the highways with my hands. believe. i'll drag this want through the paint.
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Header image courtesy of Renzo Razzetto. To see NAILED's artist feature of his illustrations, go here.
Nikki Allen scribbles poems on cocktail napkins, receipts, and/or any other blank space she can get her pen on. She’s been getting on stages to read her work for over 15 years in various places that include St. Louis, Minneapolis, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Toronto, Seattle, war protests, music festivals, charity events, backyards and art openings. She is the author of numerous books, including ligaments of light/tigering the shoulders, Gutter of Eden, and Quite Like Yes. Her work has appeared in The New Yinzer, Crash, Open Thread Regional Review Vol. 2, out of nothing, Profane Journal (Pushcart Prize nominee '14/'15), and Encyclopedia Destructica. Allen has also contributed vocals to tracks by recording artists Poogie Bell ("Question Song") and Jack Wilson ("NYC"). She loves couscous and garlic breath, and currently lives in Egypt.