The Angelic AnachronismMy turn-of-the-century French Boy
An anachronism, lost on his way home.
Walks by the stone angels,
Growing out of the ground.
He spoke with the tip of his hat
And French love letters
Waiting on my doorstep
I saved them,
Unanswered, and unopened
In an old hat-box
The frivolous-French boy
Traded his pea-coat for a business suit
And his eloquence for a profit
Sometimes he still walks by the angels
And wonders if they are sprouting,
Crib DeathBaby's heart stops. She lets go.Crib Death3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Cyanide MindI lost my voiceCyanide Mind3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
choking on my own tongue.
The words still spill out
from my eyes.
I bit my lips raw
hoping to stem the flow,
but ideas still drip
from my fingertips.
A soggy brain leaks, I suppose
and all my thoughts taste like tar
Movie NightWe're sitting in a movie theater,Movie Night3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her silhouette barely defined in the dark,
the pungent smell of cigarettes
masking her breath.
It's playing the previews,
The coming soon's flashing on the screen,
followed by snippets of what
done-to-death storylines Hollywood
is going to tell next,
and my arm brushes against hers
on the armrest that she and I share.
I don't even remember the title
of the movie. Some horror flick, I think.
She picked it. Said one of the actors was hot.
$12.50 to stare at rock abs
her idea of money well-spent.
Our feature presentation starts.
She dips her fingers into our shared
bag of popcorn as her hot commodity
drives down a dirt road
with his onscreen girlfriend and two friends
in the back. She watches and chews as
they innocently tour the South
until they blow a tire and break
Horror Movie Survival Rule #1:
Don't accept help from eccentric strangers,
Shit hits the fan, just like that.
No room for character development
not in hor
MoonburntCarelessly,Moonburnt3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she sleeps with the window opened
and the nighttime's sun,
that isn't quite a star,
paints her face and neck
with a strange,
and deposits a burning desire
to absorb it all.
PersephoneI fed herPersephone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.
With cracks in my heart
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.
ImpressionableYou left impressions in her skin and they sank straight down to her heart. You always told her that she was impressionable, but she never took it quite so literally.Impressionable3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She was holding memories so tightly that her hands started to burn. Each day a layer of skin would char and crumble. She swept the ash off and carried on.
Sometimes when she felt lonely, she would take old blankets and wrap herself in them. They smelled like the people who used them before her. They have absorbed their dreams, their feelings, their hearts. She liked to hear other peoples' dreams because she never had one herself.
She never felt quite at home. She worried about getting caught in a gust of wind and tossed down in a field somewhere, but secretly, she hoped for it.
She missed you. She wouldn't admit it, but I could see it in her face and hear it in her words.
She lost her right shoe one night. She walked a half mile in the rain without it and arrived at the front door with a big smile on her face. Sometimes I
I'm Just Waiting for the RainHe keeps his umbrella close, but never opened. Storm clouds roll in and out of his life, but they never stop to even wet the ground.I'm Just Waiting for the Rain3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He wakes up every morning at 6:15, stays in bed for another five minutes, and takes a shower that lasts eight and a half minutes. He eats two slices of buttered toast and a small tumbler of orange juice. He dresses himself in a blue button-down with a striped tie and shines his shoes so that he can see his face. If it's cold out, he wears his black trench coat and if it isn't, he just wears his sport coat. He carries his briefcase every day, along with his umbrella. He can't forget his umbrella. The train leaves at 7:00 and he is at the station by 6:55. He hasn't missed a day of work in eight years.
His career isn't exactly what he hoped it would have been. If he were to think back on it, he would realize that it isn't even close. Thankfully, he never does.
At 7:45 he goes for his morning coffee runblack with two sugars. Provided the line isn't too
Speaking From DeliriumPlastic. In tubes, in IV bags, in oxygen masksSpeaking From Delirium3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lengths and lengths of clear plastic, coiled
Everything smells like sickness and death
The chattering in the hall speaks of death
I sweat sickness from every pore, I can't
I can't concentrate
The paneling on the wall looks like you, drowning
The water pitcher sweats disease
Panic at 3:00 am when breathing's almost impossible
Watching Adult Swim all night
It's down the rabbit hole, here, things happen quickly
but the clock doesn't keep up
I hear a tune about the little puppet boy,
the one who woke up, the one who took dares
The one who turned his head too late and woke with pieces missing
Without the grey-eyed girl from good Illinois stock
The one who lived too large to die but did a little each day anyway
One day he coughed it all up
into coils and coils of plastic
MuselingRed wine ramblesMuseling2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
curdle the air, but still
you dream; half-moon
body curled in the
lamp light. I am leaving,
I am leaving, choking on
some holy word—
the floorboards creak,
a sonata for my
whilst you, hair tangled upon
the pillow, are spun gold.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;Metaphorically Speaking2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
full of stories and easily
broken at the spine.
PeonyAlone, but forPeony2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the red boots marching
cathedral heart: I
am beating echoes
in this city of the
stepping little girl's
dreams, I visit mama
in the night; but
flowers and wine won't
pay for her light.
Paranoid ClairvoyantI wanted it.Paranoid Clairvoyant3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And I did not allow direct acknowledgement, wrestling with the idea. More than want,
more like need. And the absurdity of it! Why should I feel this craving,
this magnetic necessity?
He was more than I had ever allowed myself to hope for. And maybe he wasn't exactly angelic, but something within him was untouched, tucked safely away from the world.
Sometimes I could see it; this stability, this utter sureness. And as I hoped for something else, any other explanation, I saw him struggling, trying not to let it touch his eyes. He'd always been ready to leave.
My heart swelled past a unmanageable volume.
stripped of value.
kissed on forehead
"hey, you're beautiful"
And hey, I wanted it, right?
DinnerTin cup rattle, see how the stars align tonight?Dinner3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Wooden table thunk, look, they're smiling!
Scrape of chair on wooden floor, one just winked at me
Meager meal by candlelight, but so happy, so happy
These are the days of wonder and love, the little days
The bright spots stitched in between work and boredom
Between births and deaths and catastrophes, these are the days
Leave the dishes for the kitchen elves, come to bed, she says
And the stars really do wink and smile
Heading HomeBitter-boned, I break and crumble to dustHeading Home3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My pockets full of keys to places that no longer exist
An oystershell ashtray full of butts and ashes beside me
Testify to dreams of green hedges and white picket fences
A tapping on the door, a rapping on the wall
Ghosts always like this hour just before dawn
A bird screeches and I wake again to the stinging day
And shufflestep towards home from a thousand worlds away
SanctuaryHer sanctuary is a treehouseSanctuary4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Down in the hallowed hollow
She dances with ghosts and dreams of things
Of paths that she might follow
The old songs play, the dolls watch quietly
She sings along and schemes
Of ways to turn back the clock and restart
With straighter, better-sewn seams
Three men on her mind, one now gone
One with her, one all alone
She wonders which one will be there
When life comes down to the bone
Sing, Joanie sing, sing out loud
Dance with your ghost and smile
One day the man from the faerytale
Will bring down the moon for a while
ApsaraFind me sunken into theApsara3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,
waist-deep and pink
in sunset, and we will cry:
for three-faced elephants,
for the dancers threading grace
between their fingertips—
until I dress in the heaviness,
a sarong of heat.
SerenissimaSlumbering sunsSerenissima3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
take a midmorning nap;
alleyways bright with
their smiles canal-deep.
Nightfall brings guides:
stone sighs and dead light,
(never so alive).
Clichei. true loveCliche3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& you were that one famous line
of a love poem 1863 sonnet
scripted down your spine, verses
of sternum & shuddering heartbeat.
i remember the sheets twisted blue
as the eventide, your eyes like thelassia,
that species of ocean grass. we swayed
to the music of galaxies colliding.
our song was the day the tides
finally curled round the moon's face.
eventides, thelassia eyes, moon
great and heavy as that one lucky coin
that refused to land, to grant a wish
or let luck decide for us. there were
star crabs scuttling under your
oragami skin. & i never realized
all the ways that you folded
until the doctor came back &
you folded into yourself,
please don't tell me it was disease.
please don't mention the fact
that there was a constellation
blossoming underneath your skin
as if it excuses the metaphor
of your candle-eyes dimming.
i was there for the treatment.
you weren't, rag-doll girl. you
hung limp as wet clot
So I amI feel deadSo I am3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the tree outside my window,
says I am,
so I must be.
I like lillies to bloom in winter
and for the sun to live in the clouds,
so as not to burn my skin
or leave me in the cold.
This morning I forgot to breathe,
as I woke up, I choked.
It was not unpleasent,
I was just surprised.
You could not feel the moisture
on my face
as it began to rain because,
I feel dry
and the weatherman said it was,
so it must have been,
so I am.
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still