what i’ve learned of love, i’ve learned it from trees.
Poetry
The Safest
My glory isn’t just in the moments I feel safest, but in the moments I know love.
Two Poems by Jack Brown
A man walks into the bar and sees only me
because I am there. He says Good enough but hesitates.
My Ancestors Weren’t Eliot’s
we
are born
etched in names no one speaks,
their silence riding
the currents of our voice.
sacred bodies
how many times can someone cry out for God in a night?
Down South
Driving gingerly driving motherly.
Pixelated
I was 15 in North Myrtle Beach,
skateboarding towards 420 World
under the stale haze of old billboards and tattered confederate flags. Big Mike worked there,
and it’s where the porn was.
twenty-two
Because in the dim parking lot
one man’s sobriety was a flower for his truths;
because Max’s hair in the rain.
Let the Clouds Cry
Dream about the heart-shaped leaves
on the thin branches of the purple tree.
You know the one.
Where the butterflies
sleep amongst the flowers,
Blessed by the tears of the clouds.
Less So For You, More So For Me
He doesn’t dance with me like that, Mom. He trips over my toes and splashes cranberry juice on the floor and I love it. I slurp it off of his New Balances.
Light Poems
This moment is outside of time
Ironic cause that’s what i’m needing
To teach you
Pleasure I have in my veins
This planet rewinds everyday just
To feed you
How can I be of service?
Burn me up, Wave me
Listen here patiently
Lessons entwined in my roots
Plant me within your mind so nervously
Various Poems: A Collection of Poetry and Photography
shirt button open
revealing breastless chest
breathless lungs
sternum
No One Wants to Write Poems About the Proletariat Anymore
I want someone to see me./
I want someone to know/
it ain’t easy.
America
If I met America at that bar on 8th St, I wonder if he would correct me
And tell me that’s not his preferred pronoun
Poems by A. Trufanov – Vol.2
I came to say,
That I love you,
But instead, you gave me nothing
That I could hope for.
So Long, Farewell My Child
“Mama,” you’ll say. “Mama, Mama.” And I’ll be the one to blame. Taking a second fall that never pushes back against a tide of shits and mouthful of fucks. Nameless and easy to point out the pangs of absence and guilt. Useless and replaced with something even more robust and diligently cared for.
CANDY SHOP
In my worst nightmares, I’m standing outside the Candy Shop,
crying on the sidewalk in Brooklyn.
A moment in time—
where only I could remember
the night you refused to come out and talk.
Notes from In Between
The volume alone/
slurred over tones of defeat/
should be enough for you to know/
we’re not as discrete as we seem