Impotence
I have no words for you.
Chalk eyes
censor your face
Your witch hair
Your Jew nose
Robin -
we have licked the salt
of our wounds with
tequila hate and
crumbled in adjoining
stalls
but you ask too much
I cannot reach up your legs
and pull out the death in you
and I cannot
hug it away.
About Me
- Constance Stadler
- Twenty years ago I was a 'force' on the NYC poetry scene. Edited 'South and West' and several other journals, published over two hundred and fifty poems with a total of 40+ over the last five months. HD Slammer at 'Blue Note', 'Bitter End' all the major haunts. A book offer was unfulfilled when I decided to pursue my doctoral dissertation, doing six years of field work in Morocco. While I have been writing and publishing throughout my life. The single greatest reason for my return to poetry as a life force is the amazing poet that is Antony Hitchin, who 'found' me again and then well, Hell's a poppin! I am an only child, my parents and late husband all lost to cancer. We did not have children as we thought we had time... Now poetry is my child and I count the legendary Duane Locke, Felino Soriano and Petra Whitely as friends and brilliant poets. Pablo Vision and Chris Nosnibor kick some serious ass with a plume as well. Influences? Eliot, Poe, Thomas, Neruda, Lorde, Brooks, Hooks, Baudelaire and brethren, Akhmatova and her crowd. I could SO go on. My work is largely metaphysical existentialism (you figure it out). More to come...
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