ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM
                        
***BIO*** Michael Paul Ladanyi is a two-time 2004 Pushcart Prize Nominee. His poetry, reviews and interviews have appeared in hundreds of print and online journals in the US and abroad. He is the published author of the full poetry collection Humming Riddles in Naked Seasons, (Sun Rising Poetry Press, 2004) and the chapbooks Palm Shadows, (Purple Rose Publications, 2002) Spelling Crows of Winter, (Pudding House Publications, 2003) All Your Picasso Tress, (Sun Rising Poetry Press, 2004) and from Little Poem Press, Chicken Bones, (2004) Art of the Dog, (2004) Simple Truths and Coughing Things, (2005 and co-written with Patricia Gomes) Suburban Fairy Tales of Brilliant Ash and Blue Sins, (2005 and co-written with C. E. Laine) and Beautifully Thin Oneonta Moon, (2005 and co-written with Donna Kuhn.) Michael has just completed work on his latest full poetry collection Raindogs in the Sun.

Michael Paul Ladanyi is creator, publisher and editor of Adagio Verse Quarterly,
http://www.geocities.com/adagioversequarterly/Adagio_Verse_Quarterly.html the creator, publisher and co-editor of Dante’s Bastard Son, http://www.geocities.com/dantesbastardson/DBS.html and an Asst. Editor with Underground Window, http://www.undergroundwindow.com/ Additional information about Michael Paul Ladanyi can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/michael_paul_ladanyi/
© 2005 zygoteinmycoffee Ink.
Home
Submit
I Could Never Be Her Lover
by Michael Paul Ladanyi
Her orange city is grinning,
blue-thighed and wrapped around
milky light, drizzled streets
a cold-flesh cement tracing,
old men and young girls blinded
with pumping shadow,
picasso-eyed cigarette smoke
scratching brown-spotted ceilings.

Sophia has taken on another lover,
her drunk lips sizzle-blue,
two ash-pierced candy fingers speaking
Spanish while eating a piano-boned moon.

She breathes, pebbles in dirty glass.
The rotary phone rings 29 times
before she knocks it to the floor,
busy harming herself like
splinter-glass to feel burning white.

Sophia only wears shoes when she
comes to visit me on wounded Mondays.
I could never be her lover;
I have not learned to drown
my whispering fetus.
July 2005
44