1.
Poems of Proud Hunger
by
Mary Archer
722 University Avenue APT B
Honolulu, HI 96826
(808) 756­4675
mary26@hawaii.edu
UH ID # 22525631

2.
Page 1 of 5
GEARED
I mean to gear
My pain one racket
And ring the bell
of the next level
I mean to mark
My cheeks with coal
And crack the neck
Of a gray fowl
I mean to piece
My armor entire
All beside my aim
Steer clear
CROWDED
The children are dying
Each time I feed them
They choke on my sweat and blood
As much upon smoke and dust
I drain each day and night
My joy and life
In the crowd of crowing words.

3.
Page 2 of 5
SIGHT
I’ve aged
Who knows how much
These forty days
I tried
To burn my eyes
Repenting to the sun
I mistook
Vultures for angels
In the heaven of my delirium
I’ve grown so much
Thinner now, starved of tangible food
I’ve aged
So much
These countless days
And will die to myself, soon.
MY TENT
Surround
My tent
With yellow tape
Caution beyond this point
A wrecker of streets
A disturber of peace
Here lies the reason
You should go to school
Tread softly past my hell
Keep your smiles
They make your eyes hurt more
Don’t ask me for my charity
I cannot answer
Your pain

4.
Page 3 of 5
NO ONE COME NEAR
No one
Come near
Just leave me
To enjoy
My quaint
Hour of silence
Just go
Before I ask you
Stay
DOMES
Away
From my grasp
Stretches
Limitless sky
My fist would
Fasten its blue
To my ceiling
And fit the incredible
To a bound
If only my dome knew
Above it were a sky
Of untouchable blue

5.
Page 4 of 5
CRUNCH
Demons
Talk in my ear
And whisper
“You should crawl out through the back door”
But instead I eat them
I crunch their soulless shells
Like hollow easter bunnies
Until
Their feet furnish mine
And I walk wherever I please
JUST TRY
Don’t fling a paperclip at me
You nasty knucklehead
I have more ​cojones
Than you’ll ever need
To stuff your mouth with
Just try roughing up on me
When I’ve shot two
Macchiatos up my bloodstream
I’ve got PTSD
From a jammed­up stapler
And I’m red for the jugular
Just make my day
I’m tired of ties and belts
And I’ll make a trial of you
Like I do Windows 8

6.
Page 5 of 5
CARRY ON
I’ve detailed the things to do after I’ve gone
You must sing out of tune on your walks
You must smile, sometimes at least, a weak uncertain grin
You must write two hours one email
You must check your hair three times
You must pour just enough soy milk in your cereal
To save some for the others
You must fling each shirt by your bed
You must forget to wash your hands sometimes
You must read books until all you do is move eyes
And you must wish tomorrow rains
To see the bluer sky
I MAKE NEW
I end fear
I take wind
When fire is eating vessel
I crack whip
Into broken halves
I smother tunes
Of despair with lips of warm affection
I burden heavy
Shoulders strong to carry bags their weight in gold
I wreck marriages
Of greed and envy, pride and scorn
I make new
Young lost and weary souls
I downtrod all doubt
Into wine of fullest flavor
I decay precious fruit
Into dark and loamy soil
If you forget my name
Look only
To the light that walks with you