Nicole Wilson



Progress Report


Pomegranate seeds are small
jewels on carpet
brilliant to the tongue,

like the time you took me
caroling on a barge.

We can't all be dapper, can we?

Or maybe we look professorial
in just the right jacket.

The psychologist reassured me there's nothing
wrong with boundaries, it's healthy,

which came to mind as a shirt
eased over my head, as sex

blotted out for a moment the fear
of terminal illness (cancer!),
or terrorist attack (EMP!).

It's certainly not healthy or natural
to sit all day typing and staring
or to smother the greens in ranch

ours with a donkey, please,
and a steer proud and masculine.




Yaw & Way


Poor tired

unthing, you

bruises faint

on knee down

windows rolled in rain


up hill slick

car pushed

grain & grass

field wet


list you lost

uptown bucket

under oil catching


rock-n-roll coming

over radio sockets

whistle drenched feet




A Dollop of Lipstick in Your Liver, Come to Syracuse


You are responsible for my fortitude,
the zipped up ball of my foot.

Perhaps send me a bit-tied nuptial,
a bottle to spill across the center of my carpet.

Mom, I put the cat down. He was sinful too.
Fold your eye lid amulet into a triangle
and mail it to me quick, a conjugal ice pick.

Underneath you underneath the cross
made of matchsticks atop the bed
we crisscrossed in the parents' home.