Author Archives: amyleighcutler

About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire

Staten Island Ferry

Waiting for the Staten Island ferry on Tuesday afternoon, I am overcast and scattered showers. How can I describe it? I left my home for home to see my brother who left home to come home but briefly. There are … Continue reading

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Walking Toward Charles

Reading Bukowski in the 4th floor seating section of Barnes and Noble, I raise my wrist to my nose again, for the third time. The man in Sephora talked me through the perfumes with notes of rose, and sprayed little … Continue reading

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Washington Square Park in October

If I had more time, this would never have gotten done. On Friday morning in Washington Square Park, the benches are slowly drying. It happens on the West side of the park, once wet, then damp, now dry. It is … Continue reading

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For You, From Here

I cannot do this now. The cat meows in tall grass, Tiny body hungry. Let me sleep on it. Bass moves the brick walls downtown. Meanwhile the pier is full of empty wine glasses, Greasy parchment paper in French fry … Continue reading

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The Times

The history of teal or how to take the coffee back or what about hymns we sung and how come you don’t listen after you ask a question and then there are the overflowing dresser drawers and unshowered days but … Continue reading

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My History in Parts

We took your mother’s car. (Pushed) through bramble across mud and rocks. It ends in a stainless steel kitchen, still slick from high tide. Nothing swallows the hunger, (or ever does) bite through a fence. The outline of an overpass, … Continue reading

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Coming Back From Brooklyn

Every morning I wake To an audience of brick. The house is a crowded place, As all bodies are. And in such sleep the dance is gone hips no longer moved By marionette or drum. What smoke unlocks the roof … Continue reading

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Poem Sleep

If you are tired Write anyway. I am falling asleep to the song of myself again. So many things get written In so many bedrooms Before sleep. I was twelve once And still love a dark room. There is religion … Continue reading

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In Silence

I guess there are always a thousand things. In the city, down the mountain, in the city. I didn’t want to throw away a good word, so I reused it on you. It isn’t that I am unkind, you weren’t … Continue reading

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The Next Line

I love hearing you read. I never know the answers before you say them. Something about silence in a poem and I’m home. My mother pulls her robe closer to her body. She is smaller than I am. I tell … Continue reading

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