Melissa Broder

I saw Melissa Broder read her poetry at apex art space in Tribeca last year and was instantly in love.  Cute as a shiny new button, Broder read her poems with a twinkle in her eye and a lilt in her voice, and after reading the dark gems below, perhaps you’ll see why that might be compelling.



A lamp powered by blood is called

a miracle and a legend

powered by blood is called a church.

I am not against anything

not even infinity I

just don’t want to be made to watch.

My consort’s head is burning hot

so I take it off. This is not

how compassion works but it works.

What of next? Next the headless man

and I go dancing on a death

til we’re dumb dumb dumb and blonde blonde.

Oh how I love a dumb blonde neck.

No universe tells it to stop

and put an apple in its mouth.



Gold Lipstick and the End of Summer

Who knows what old ladies are?

They want their copies back

Some cannot recall past lives

This must be satisfying

I must be lazy

I can barely grow old

I am hiding in the bottom drawer

All my girls are there


Aloha girls

Road-stained warrior trucking girls

Ski holiday village girls

Girls with forks of fat

Saintly girls on rosary hum

Disco marigolds

Gingerbread goodie-goodies

Little punk rabbits.



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