three poems by alex taylor

child in kitchen

the fire element
is on. a bird out
side knows and
starts sounding
like a fire alarm.

it’s higher than
you can whistle
i think and it gets
inside your eardrums.
they sizzle in
time to the pan.

there is a child
in the kitchen she
is only little but.
she watches the
garlic for a while
and decides maybe
it is sweet. we
crush it together
and then she
is careful to watch
out for her fingers
while i chop real tiny.

the onion is already
in the garlic is
supposed to go
second.

she is thinking
what about the tears
of the onions?
 
 
trying it on

he is wearing his best jacket out.
he is wearing it out. his best jacket.

he could have worn anything.
it is being worn out. it is worn out.
the outside is worn. it is worn out.
his smile. his best jacket.

he could be worn out from anything.
he could be outside from anything.
he could be outside for anything.
he’s out for anything. it’s wearing him out.
he wore it outside. it was worn outside.
the outside was worn. he was wearing it out.
his jacket. his best jacket. he does not really smile.
 
 
glass cow

the emptiness is a feeling
you have cultivated.

with less per gallon
you need only whistle
and the ceiling faces
outwards.

the insides of
elbows are problematic
when you get
too close.
 
 
Alex Taylor is a freelance composer, musician and poet. He was the 2012 NZSO-National Youth Orchestra Composer-in-Residence and the winner of the 2012 SOUNZ Contemporary Award. His poetry is concerned with sonic adventure, the fickleness of emotion, and the relationship between inner (personal) and outer (social) spheres. Alex is a regular performer at the University of Auckland’s LOUNGE poetry readings and his work has been published in minarets, Potroast and JAAM.