Paramount
you’re a folk fiddle
in a hound’s-tooth coat
you stand eaten
in the hot wind
tumbleweeds cling to your
last words
drain as i cut
the melted rope
holding us together
you always read
faster than you wrote
sang like your mother
danced wildly like your father
in the summertime
fell like me
you talked the big talk
as if
walking weren’t a weapon
where you’ll end up next
cross county lines,
scream double-time—
a paramount decision
the water’s too deep in the well
to crawl back up the side
snakes lay in your bed
where i left my good ring—
lucky for you
i have plenty of jewels
sitting around
waiting to be used
Last year in July
It’s almost July now
Somewhere close by,
Windows shift at night
Hot sidewalks pulse
Through my veins
Somewhere close by,
Scraps of fresh fruit lay in empty cardboard boxes
Crystallizing the gutter water beneath them
In sweet rhythms
That have accumulated in my mind for weeks
It’s almost July now
These streets feel of paper
The threads of my t-shirt
Melt to a tile roof
Littered in pomegranate seeds
And scraps of fresh bread
Taken from market on the corner
Across from that bar we met at,
Something about the weather this time of year
Makes my body think of yours
Remember when we met last year, sometime in July?
Max Kennedy is a recent-ish graduate of SFSU’s Creative Writing program, where he studied poetics and playwriting. He has been published in a few print and online magazines, such as Xpress Magazine, As Of Late, Ramblr Magazine and Yes Poetry's ebook The Queer Body. He works in Los Angeles as a content creator and creative copywriter for top beauty brands.