My name is Leith Campbell. I'm 24 and I live in Port Huron, Michigan. Port Huron has the distinction of being across the Saint Clair River from a place called Chemical Valley, an immense stretch of oil refineries and chemical companies whose runoff "fortifies" the water of the Saint Lawrence Seaway.

Port Huron is a black hole for culture and intellect. There are very few here that don't cock a re-evaluating eye when you explain that you would rather be writing poetry and that you don't know the score of the Red Wings' game.

I attend Wayne State University for Music and Linguistics. I've been published in a small Traverse City publication called the Red Wheelbarrow. I enjoy writing and playing blues music, and hope someday to start drifting west...






It Allows No Deals

It drives men to madness obsessive
inspiration midnight alleywalking carrying
the destination with you, babbling and
planning and breaking plans, laughing
through tears it hits like a ton of bricks over
years or like a lymphocyte in a matter of
seconds and whammo it stacks up to nothing
if not negative.
It drives men to madness obsessive
inspiration midnight jigs with the devil like
whiskey bottles through stained glass
windows, it sounds like cracking ankles and
chafed dry skin like sisters or mothers or
brothers of fathers of friend weeping into
pillows or sometimes it sounds like a sigh of
relief like a job well done.
It drives men to madness obsessive
inspiration midnight gazing eye crossing
stepping back stepping back stepping
forward standing on your head with one eye
covered but you still can't place it cuz its
like the air inside a jug, its like a corner of
the eye thing its something you can dance
around with words or feet or pictures or
spiked clubs but you can't get much more
than a silhouette that keeps changing.
It looks like the cracks in between what you
think you know and what really is.


Copyright (c) 1999 by Leith Campbell




The First Day of School

The feeling you get as you
push in, further
She's begging you and you oblige.
The feeling you get at the
sight of long legs and elegant
Ivory thighs, of close shaved pubes
and a scent of vanilla of
Perfect breasts made round
with gravity, or
The feeling you get when you
enter and push and your buried
To the hilt
or the feeling you get
when the rubber snaps at
the climax because it was never made to
handle sparks and fire.

Women, you bathe me,
You pat my bottom dry,
You wake me and send me
Out with small skills into
a hungry world with nothing but
a world of responsibility and a mandate.
You reel me back and I receive
small comforts which satisfy.
You know me and trust me and love me
and it scares the hell out of me,
like the first day of school.
I tell you the danger and you don't care
for it is your duty and so I
accept this challenge of love.
Each night I will give you a dagger,
Close my eyes and give my fate unto you.


Copyright (c) 1999 by Leith Campbell



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