Flower Conroy

by Horror Sleaze Trash on March 28, 2014


Flower Conroy’s poetry has appeared/is forthcoming in American Literary Review, The Moose & the Pussy, Menacing Hedge, and other journals. She is the author of the chapbooks “Escape to Nowhere,” and soon-to-be-published “Controlled Burn.”



Enter the pyramid mind.


Undress yourself of your past & daily lives, also, your clothing.

Slow so that I may study the invitation of your exposed skin in this light.


I shall run a bath for you, & after I’ve scoured your body, I’ll dry you.

Comb your hair.


You offer the back of your neck, your spine, tailbone.  Were I half-animal.

Were you a pup.  I would take you in my jowls by your scruff.


Bring you where I want you.


I make flesh flush.  Rhythm sculpts, you a mirage rising.


Tethered to my leash your thoughts pace beyond my grasp.  Lift your face

to mine with one obelisk finger.  I offer back the mystery, a bite

of salted tomato & ice.


Eat from my hand while I rock against you.


That I may cup your mouth & throat, feel against my palms how you swallow

the world, how you devour air.


Before you turn upon me, wild released one.





In the abandoned meat factory, rain grizzled the stairwell.

You were shirtless, cardboard beneath you.

Beyond the cinderblocks, breath

of traffic, industrial & silver.  Clouds

within clouds, the yellow leaves

of the trees lining October.  Hooks

dangled from the ceiling, upside-down question marks.

Out of body: as if I watched in a mirror

but couldn’t see my eyes.  All my mind saw

was bone, it heard ghosts—wind—the rusty fan scraping

in its cell.  Later that night, lightning rib-

cage, heart of brewing storm.

That place no longer exists.

I think of its other names: The Beef Barn.

Temple of virginity lost.  Or simply—

abattoir, slaughterhouse.  When I left,

I left carrying my shoes.


Of Exaltations


Below the lovers’ bedroom, The Broken Cloud, frenzy of butterflies & gnats.


Beyond the collapsing

fence the orchard’s apple-

ly ever after air while


the virescent pond submits to its sublime, dragonfly death.  Possessed


as Podkowinski’s manic stallion

whose portrait hangs above

the headboard, kudzu smothers trees


& the shell of an abandoned tractor.   The colt for the first time tastes its bit.


Tremblings, The Swollen Bite,

crickets Kama Sutra

in the grass’ understory,


punch-drunk on sweet & sour chlorophyll, the ecstatic songs their contorted


frayed legs make.  While in the over-

flowing garden, corn rots, overripe

eggplant split, cabbage surrender to deer.


Coral & Jewel, gardenia loll.  Here end love’s different kinds of nibbling, thigh resting on thigh.


Young glazed lovers, hay smell of bliss,

razing crop, do you never wonder

who will feed the chickens?




I’d forgotten the hyssop aftertaste of paisley.  Background

of nostalgia’s strange piano sounds.  I distinguish

your voice in the ripped velvet dark.  I swore

I wouldn’t: the dark, the dark, the dark but this glass

of dark makes me think of dark,

& more dark.  How the thin shade

barely kept back the world outside.  In the ceiling’s mirror,

I was a skinned animal fastened by my own fascination

of you circling me: Who lives

like this? & How alive are you?


How                  one


body fit         the           other       with      a       little

muscle &


some spit.



Juxtaposition Among Redwoods


They were not red.  Not as in blood-

red nails.  Not red like apples, or corvettes.

These mythological bodies, thriving upward,

were welted rust, paprika-dusted, owl-

brown, tigered in moss.  They whispered shadows.

This excursion before touring the vineyards.

You wore a leather trench coat.  I teetered

along the pathway in fuchsia shoes.

Alone along some trail, separated from human

eyes, you took me to you with one arm,

& with the other, a singular

fallen limb.  Said into my neck, turn around &

I did.  The sky opened small enough for a cloud to escape.

It sounded like falling leaves, still clenched in branches.




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