two poems by tracy dimond

I Want Francis Bacon to Draw Me

I dream about a new blender
because mine screams

about a lack of channels
every time I floss.

If no one hears the fire alarm
is a tree falling in the woods?

A dash of acid to my face
will answer this question:

Would you still like my poems
if you didn’t want to have sex with me?

Put my mind to canvas,
work my bones like rotted wood.

I’m trying to feel as strongly
as an exclamation point.
Good Morning America

I turned the TV on at daybreak
I could learn hard news from NPR
but I want to pet Matt Lauer through the screen.

For months I followed the headline
about the model that lost her hand and eye
outside a luxury plane.

The doctors said her positive attitude saved her,
but they couldn’t replicate the ocean in her face.

I want to bottle her sweetness
and inject it into my skin.
Tracy Dimond is an MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. She is co-curator at Ink Press Productions. She spends her extra time running and tweeting about cheese.