Two poems by Darren Demaree

She Paints with No Frame

For Aubrey Hirsch

I like your kind of breaking,
the particle of it, the magic
& the lack of lid on it, the char

that drops blue as truth,
wrapping the physics
of our human restraint

around the infinitely rich
imagination of believers.
I believe in color, I believe

in the suffocation of dark,
I believe that dawn is a flash
of element, human, fantastic,

colliding in Pittsburgh,
with the light touch of before
the reaction made us.


State of the Hinges

& collected salt,
the wood

was always meant
for the bugs
& their un-mending

barrage of selves.
We invented

so that crossing
the threshold
would have more

meaning to us.
The rest of the small,
valid fears, made doors

out of less
than rock, lighter
than a greeting.

More poetry at Used Furniture.

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