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Marshall Defor Poem
how many times whiplash before neck
broken we fall before thee, prostrate,
dead.
crawling through backways,
squirming, recoiling,
is it a prayer or a deathwish. can it be
both. or, maybe, it is a leaking faucet
drip
into a sink with a stopper.
hand in hand,
drip
we have
so much
drip
potential.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2021
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Marshall Defor Poem
swirls around my
finds my
bottom right incisor.
jagged
pulls away
[bite down]
finds my
bottom right incisor.
bloodied
bottom right incisor.
[swirl, swirl, swirl, swirl, swirl, sw
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2025
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Marshall Defor Poem
. . . .and all of a sudden, the burden of responsibility weighs heavy on my shoulders. as commander of war, my fingers shake as thoughts run wildly through my head: thoughts of gaps in formations of navy ships overlap with estimates of how many i can keep from passing away in tragedy. i run my fingers through my hair. . . .and all of a sudden, her estranged mom is passing away in tragedy. and i know that her inner child is trembling. the hardest part is knowing she feels small, alone. from thirteen hundred miles away, i cannot be there to hold her when things get tough for the small one inside her, whose one desire is to be loved by those whose only job it was to demonstrate the beauty of a safe connection. . . .and all of a sudden, he loves me back. i feel it. my head rests in his lap; i feel his fingers run through my hair from thirteen hundred miles away, and i finally feel safe. i look up at him, and my breath catches at his beauty. you are so beautiful, i tell him. he smiles, chuckles to himself: even in a fever dream, you can’t resist telling me that i am beautiful. i can hear something like awe in his voice. . . .and all of a sudden, i am utterly alone, gasping in pain. i find myself praying that i am not passing away in tragedy, that my body returns to a homeostasis that keeps me from feeling like this all of the time. head pounding picks up pace. fingers shift from hair to burning forehead. i pray for a burden of responsibility that weighs heavy on my shoulders: i pray to remain on this earth for a few more years, until i am able to hug my mom, until i am able to pass away from this life without too much guilt.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2021
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Marshall Defor Poem
a songbird beloved who moves with intention
will find themselves in times of trouble
mother mary on their bustier—
a sight for those with the privilege to see.
stands on a paddleboard oaring towards me.
embodies a world full of pain in their bones
and their muscles and mind—
the will of some force that’s beyond understanding
waiting for a note to attune to and decides
while they wait they will sing anyway;
it helps them to be.
i hope you never stop singing, my sweet bumblebee.
i enter the conversation with gentle movements
loving sweet nothings sweet somethings substantial
i love them i love them so radiant gentle
no one could deserve them as they sing determinedly.
we sit on the dock by the lake and share stories and
secrets and heartwants and troubles
and worries and stressors and loves
from the six years or three years or
too many seconds since we last communed with the
spirits of nature or aliens telling us
to save the planet and stop making bombs can’t we
all love each other we hold hands and
cry when we need to and lie on the ground and do
stretches and quietly sing and make tea.
we have faith the ginger and turmeric lemon and leaves will help
soothe the hum in the background of long covid—the chronic
experience—life in and out of high levels of pain
we’ve adjusted to, sleeping and stretching
a cascade of moves through the hours to assuage the
pain we express and choose not to repress
we decenter we manage we bargain with, converse with—
that we embody.
we choose to live life melodiously.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2025
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Marshall Defor Poem
let me love you again
in love with you in every way
in love with you in every way again
things you are
giving up
giving you up
i need to give you up, but i know not yet how
why can't i view you as a friend
why can’t i get over it
it’s been so long
addiction
my strange addiction
my favorite man
i hate you
i am selfish
i know you didn’t do this on purpose, but it has always felt like
you did.
what you did.
maybe you did it on purpose, and i am gaslighting myself
was that wishful thinking
do i wish for vengeance
why have you forsaken me
where did you go
i miss you
i miss you more than you will ever know
forbidden fruit
goodbye
i wish you knew
i wish i had kept you blocked
i cut myself on the same rusty knife as last time
now i want to be dead
it does not feel well
it does not feel well with my soul
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2025
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Marshall Defor Poem
do you ever have your contact bother you all day,
and then, just before you take it out,
it fixes itself?
that’s how i feel
when i’m
with you
***
we were almost to the end of our walk.
“i’m dissatisfied,” you muttered, avoiding my glance.
i wish you had met my eyes.
we could have both seen
we were both
afraid of
***
i dreamt that we lied in your bed for three hours.
you said, “you’re such a f*cking beautiful human.”
i tried not to whimper.
in your bed
for three hours
i told the truth
***
you almost told me last time.
your lip was quivering.
to a passerby,
our hug may have looked
a little bit
too long.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2025
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Marshall Defor Poem
aboard the 71, about halfway down the left side
i sit facing forward, heart leaping as he embarks—
he’s on the way to the grocery store,
or his sister’s house,
or work, but he’s running late;
standing room only
he grabs a handle facing me.
he catches my eye and i his,
waves at me with all five fingers and
i wish to hold them in mine, trace
the outline of the bones in his hand,
look into his eyes deeply,
see what’s true;
two stops later, a seat opens up on the right—
one row ahead.
dark, curly hair.
i take measured glances,
don't stare don't draw unwanted attention.
i want his arms around me,
to look into his eyes some more.
he disembarks.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2025
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Marshall Defor Poem
ars poetica: brother, 4.25.18
someday, he will sit stiff
on our piano bench
to which he has grown accustomed, and i,
home, will sit nearby
in our cozy armchair,
an old accomplice to my posture.
i can’t remember the last time i saw him relax
this boy, this impossibly-almost man.
he will play me what he is able
of the opus he meticulously composed
in the year since we last met,
in the year since he told me
he wished he knew who i was,
who i had become since moving away.
i can still feel his excitement in the message
i received last month once he had finished.
i will revel in each chord progression,
every stylized transition,
any idiosyncratic modulation,
all exemplifications of his desire to see G*d.
let Him be manified.
and i will congratulate my brother,
for i have grown to admire the passion
with which he worships the One Who Loves.
i will ask to read him this poem.
and during these moments, we will glean
a piece of each other that we usually cannot hold.
i think this is what love can look like:
distant hearts drawing near, speaking
a language without words, the language
that lets them feel they are not alone,
not so different after all.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2021
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Marshall Defor Poem
an early mourning stroll, and hours spent passing through as many neighbourhoods,
and sometimes you sob so
violently that you cannot contain
noises breaking past your lips, sounds
usually repressed. sometimes you can only
sob while pacing the streets, and sometimes you
must spend hours shaking, shaking, pacing the streets.
step after step. you roll your shoulders, gasp;
i think of making you a playlist. i think about the order of the
songs so i can communicate to you my witness. oh,
how precious you are. my Love, we sit on secrets. there is more
to say, that which surpasses language. perhaps, music could help
approximate; and Dearest, i digress.
not a playlist. a poem instead,
gracelessly splattering ink
in an attempt at abstraction,
to bring another viewpoint of Love into focus.
just for you.
the house gardens contain miracles.
wrong pillow. neck knot. ache.
Copyright © Marshall DeFor | Year Posted 2021
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