Alison Coppe

Butch Dancing

We go out butch dancing Poets and lovers Get lost in a vertical groove Scale the room of eyes legs glitter I ask are you a dancer? ultimately, they say. Beats pop soda or salt rush against the impulse to …

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Bus Stop

Rain and the road Shake hands at the coffee shop. Bus stop. Break, shift Like that automatic kiss Filling bedsheets Compressing the morning into moans Before the sun is up –don’t go Back to Fourteen years of never loved you …

Posted in 87: DIFFICULT | Tagged

Queer Modes: New Australian Poetry

I did not want to build a falling-down house of rhetoric / Or even one that could stand all the huffing and puffing

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