person Kristin Garth, one poem

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker with sonnets in magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of twelve books of poetry including Dewy Decimals (Arkay Artists 2020) and Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press 2020) Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website http://kristingarth.com

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Spectrophilia

You never were alone in life. A doll
dissected with a pearl handled knife — held,
allotted days inside crocheted shawl, all
communal gifts since you were small. She fell

into an early grave, the half of you
who won’t be saved. A heart conjoined
severed by rot, you stalk in holes dug, new,
the family burial plot. Adjoined

cadavers in longleaf pines. Love and lust
robust inside your wounded mind — for ghosts
no longer humankind. Seek, dirty, dusk
two apparitions you never find. Most

days dialogue with moths, unbodied doll.
You whisper kisses which never enthrall.

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person Kristin Garth, two poems

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart & Best of the nominated poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Yes, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, Luna Luna, TERSE. Journal and many more. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has another Pensacola Girls from Bone & Ink Press. She has two forthcoming: Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019) and Puritan U (Rhythm & Bones Press March 2019) from She also has a full length upcoming Candy Cigarette from Hedgehog Poetry in April. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), her weekly poetry column The Sonnetarium and her website (kristingarth.com).

.

Silence

is seamless, Victorian nightgown, roof
reproof, no fingers or electric sounds
when it’s affixed, lightless chandeliers, proof
of fealty, microscopic tears. Hound
haunts fears, your plate glass tabletop front lawn,
barks at shadows, windows, doors while the , hand
is gone. Perimeter once stood upon
with plastic hedge, inch edge to tile crash land
or Dalmatian whose lunging signal, teeth
remands in silent walls without a back
turntable, aerial attack. Relief
the latter, only friend, through shingles black
the five descend desiring fingerplay.
His fingertips are all you’ll hear today.

.

His Music Box Breathes Depeche Mode

a hollowed set design inside dollhouse
ballroom. Five fingers lead. Wallpapered flats,
black bloomed, encircle stage. Gossamer flounce,
gray ballet skirt, a plié romance danced,
piano wound by fingertips, Behind the Wheel
tuned teeth play Maxence Cyrin. Planet eyes,
constellations, melt, stratosphere surreal
inconstant asteroid belt, light devised
stings limbs like lust. A moonbeam pas de deux,
move as you must, his passenger. Fouettés,
regrets, releasing whim, each orbit you
spin closer to him for God the father
created little girl and universe;
his music box breathes, and you will rehearse.

.

 

person Kristin Garth, one poem

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart & Best of the Net nominated sonnet stalker. Her poetry has stalked magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2: One, Anti-Heroin Chic, Former Cactus, Occulum, Luna Luna, & many more. She has a chapbook Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), three forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018), Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019), and Puritan U (Rhythm & Bones Lit March 2019). Her full length, Candy Cigarette, is forthcoming April 2019 (The Hedgehog Poetry Press). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), her weekly poetry column (https://www.rhythmnbone.com/sonnetarium) and her website (kristingarth.wordpress.com).

~~~~~

Pink Aquarium

He is wandering — Paris, road trip quips,
gas station cats, Red Bull escapades, bars,
pop stars in MAGA hats, apocalypse
epiphanies in spectral memoirs.

She’s waiting — coffee shop, laptop, wife swap
eavesdrop, rodent monarchies nibble brains,
imaginary gangbangs, lollipops
self medicating solitary pain.

He’s waded to her pink aquarium,
discarnate, penetrating, coffee breaks, with tongue
emoji, nose-against-glass delirium.
She opens in the custom of the young.

To sirens boxed, his pause feels like something.
Will he stay a while? She is wondering.

~~~~~

person Kristin Garth, from ~Candy Cigarette~

Kristin Garth is a kneesock enthusiast and a Best of the Net nominated sonnet stalker. In addition to Isacoustic*, her poetry has stalked magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2: One, Anti-Heroin Chic, Former Cactus, Occulum, Luna Luna, & many more. She has a chapbook Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). Her full length, Candy Cigarette, is forthcoming April 2019 (The Hedgehog Poetry Press). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), her weekly poetry column (https://www.rhythmnbone.com/sonnetarium) and her website (kristingarth.wordpress.com).

*

So slick & quick, they always start. They know
each ventricle of a schoolgirl’s heart, pretenders,
naked, just like you, with lesson plans & homework,
too. Summons, secret, to a bed to play. No strip
club required. They will not pay for a bookish
girl they’ve known for years, before the days
of topless cheers – coquettish in a velvet dress,
punk rock bar, a college girl they pushed too far.
The one who moved you from your parents’ house,
first smoke, first choke, first heart cut out to Jane’s
Addiction, red face, low lights & sweat tell you all you
should have already known. He’s not alone. He’s a
PRIVATE DICK
different than the ones who pay, seek lust & love
in a public, prescripted way. They make the rules.
They know who you are. You can try to change
a made-up mind, but you won’t get too far. They
know all your details. They calculate their words.
Their histories are mysteries. Every last stand, line
in the sand is buried & blurred. They look at you
sometimes, a blank stare you recognize — the cool
calculations of a predator’s eyes. You’ve seen it
in mirrors, some nights at the club when some
out-of-town businessman has fallen in love. He’s
speaking of somedays, a dream that necessitates you,
and you’re counting how many more table dances
you need to do to buy a TV as big as your friends.
How many more twerks & how many bends?
In public, a private dick will preen, compile,
pretty words on display. In private, you’ll see it.
They will make you pay.

*

person Kristin Garth, one poem

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker.  Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, Luna Luna, TERSE. Journal and many more.  Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019).  Follow her on Twitter:  @lolaandjolie

~*~

Daphne, Dolly, Darlene

An education, dressing room, Behind
the Wheel on sonic boom — Depeche Mode and
debauchery. First practice lap dance grind,
acquire some strategy. Between thighs tan,
against small breasts, a whispered wisdom she
bequests: “Your fake real name? Mine is
Darlene,” simple believability
behind Dolly, obscene. An alias
men anticipate. To make bank, you must
extrapolate. Secrets sell. You should be
prepared. G-stringed guru, but do you trust
“for-real” name reveal, lap dance lust? “Daphne.”
It’s complicated in this naked game.
You keep it simple. You tell them your name.

~*~~*~