Trickhouse Parlour

Scott Lowery | Writings



bird skins

All the parts of myself
that I have cut off
amputations winged
gathered round me in the midnight rain
to clad me in feathers
and cloak me in bird skins
that shed the drops of pain
into an inkwell
where I dipped my quill
and wrote poems on cave walls
to protect all lovers.



tree bones

Fall leaves stampede around me, their rich odor wrapped in the chilled wind of storm as I stare way up through a sky’s static electricity. Climbing the exposed bones of a white oak to get closer, through a frozen explosion of color supported by those beams, spilling red yellow ink in letters upon a thin veiled cloudscape. Scanning with the intensity of childhood for birds revolving in thermals at the top of the blue day.

In that obsession of my heart I heard a bell break. The loud screech of a hawk opened an aperture swiftly, as the pupil of my eye dilated upon a polaroid of night time developing. The white moon closed in, a spinnaker on a black sea, exposing chandeliered chambers in a hotel of butterflies sleeping, their damp wings quivering in anticipation of some ending, but instead finding a union, of ivory teeth pressed seamlessly, molten as you and me, or the seasons changing. 



velvet slide show

I wish my heart was blind
So when a curtain of hair
falls over a shoulder
shelters one eye
I could not see
and want to make die
the sadness inside
you have so many good looks
that when I look and look away
a velvet pretty slide show will
play and play.



Scott Lowery attended the Naropa School for Disembodied Poetics in Boulder, Colorado. He currently lives and works in San Francisco, California.

Photograph Copyright Felix Gonzalez-Torres

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