Poetry from Nate Maye

She’s a doll
until you decorate
her, a lovely
fashion until
you notice how
she fails to make
eye contact,
drags her feet,
fails to communicate,
rips you apart
behind your back.
Blink you miss
it, blink you miss me,
this poem I wrote for
you, if you blink
or click, gets lost
in the endless stream
of cubes and rounds,
pushed to the bottom
of the stream.
He lingers in the hall
and I dream about
him turning suddenly
a new creature,
mythic and strange.
But he still won’t clean
like he’s supposed to,
often napping
in the corner, even
with his horse legs
or beast eyes.
Nate Maye is a rising poet.  Nate watches too much television and studies literature.  He is from Texas.