HeartmindWe lost electricity on the night you left meHeartmind4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I spent the night curled up against the rain,
drinking in the slack of damp green winds
in our treasured driftwood home of mist.
I had to come to think of time
as a medium and my thoughts as
imperfect and cursive. It was a wrinkled medium,
a mediocrity of sunken breath: words condensing
into droplets that so contorted my teary lenses
that I couldn't tell that you were turning towards me
with a sound, the sound a book makes
when its leaves are rustled against the grain.
Tonight my body lingers on the edge of the ocean
like a gasp; New Jersey's throaty highways
bear my rosefelt thoughts and I can't miss them
like I miss the cradle of the river,
like I miss the firm grip of the circular,
like I miss the existential faith we had in nature
and her artistic lover to take us home.
Metastasis98.00Metastasis4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Autumn is the season when everything dies.
The leaves shrivel up and your lungs go with them, tiny dejected organs drying out inside your sternum, crinkling under our footsteps. The doctors pronounce their diagnosis as the leaves fall, listing medical terms and percentages and something about medication options.
The disease is metastatic: it has bored its way out of your lungs and into your bones. Dissatisfied, it's going for your organs, your liver, your heart. The prognosis says Christmas is a pipe dream, likely as the sun ceasing to set.
You promise it anyway.
November comes and I am a fish, breathing through makeshift gills carved into my hips, lopsided and crude.
I make fresh ones twice a day, slice myself open once in the morning and once at night in hopes the air will come a little easier each time. I make three and count them off:
and hope my heart stops.
The leaves have been carted away, pummeled into dust, and blown away in the wind.
And I will Always be the MoonWe have gotten so attached to these days and these months,And I will Always be the Moon3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but a deer doesn't know a Tuesday from a Thursday
and a caribou can't comprehend that it was born on a September afternoon,
but they can understand this instant, this moment, this breath,
only now, no longer the past, and only the future when they get there,
there's a healthy lack of awareness in that,
escaping the fear of death but thriving off the instinct to live,
everything so primal and based off gut reactions,
I guess you could say ignorance is bliss,
but ignorance only actually applies when it comes to humanity,
oh I would like a life like that,
one that is organic, tangible, and ripe with bloody berries,
one where carnal creatures run rampant,
one where we rise from the dirt with muddy thighs
because we were bred into these earthly bodies
to hold seconds in our palms like newborn children,
and to throw our heads back and howl against the awareness that we are dying,
for oh this skin is only our host,
beta physicsi.beta physics3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the rain wrapped impatience around your roof,
bored through the wood like a thousand million termites
(or one you-sized termite, blind, breathless)
and seeped from the cold clockwork like battery acid.
you lived in a widow's closet -
a house swarmed with antiques
that collapsed in their own gravity
and combusted -
and then you lived in widow's charcoal.
"galaxies are either lovers or termites," she mused.
(earlier, her fingernails bored into my back
Hubble's thousand million stars, all drops of acid
branding my spine.)
"they are drawn to each other for years
and in an instant, once together,
eat themselves alive."
after you diedi.after you died7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they asked me if there was something
of yours that I wanted to keep
to keep your eyelashes, your breath,
I said this, and they looked
sad, said they meant did I want your
clothes and possessions, your things
I didn't know what I wanted
cradling my head with my arms and
quietly saying no over and over
dry with the taste of morning sickness
and old seawater
a month later, I wanted all your clothes
I was scrub-faced and tired
of the walls hurt my eyes, buried in wet
towels, sleeping naked on the floor every
I fucked somebody else
after the funeral
"somebody else" sounds wrong now
as if you are still alive, kissing
my shoulder in the morning
I'd taken cocaine
and it made a sound in my ears like a hummingbird
like someone banging on a door or just that tiny high pitched scream
that someone starts to make when they have grown tired of crying
your mother was fixing my hair in the kitchen
a bobby pin tucked
Like Dropsi.Like Drops4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like drops of water we fall
I must be
you might think that
you want to be different yourself
you do not
you want to be special
I am not special
everyone wants to be special
not so special
want to seduce me
because I'm different
I don't mind, but
I've never really liked those girls
I don't really like girls at all
I like sex though, so..
I let them
some will fall
in love with me.
want to beat me up
show me my
also because I'm different
and because they grew up with a strong father figure
I don't really like boys at all, but
I like their hatred
so I don't argue my case
will fall in love with me.
Maybe I'm a teardrop
or one of
because for me
are all different.
but you are not special
and even though I sometimes seduce you
want to beat you up
I don't really l
comatose.i never told you:comatose.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hated the way you smelled
like winter, like
fog or listerine or
something long forgotten.
i guess i miss you the way
i miss brooklyn,
all thirsty for a song
i've never heard, pining for
a place i've never been.
i never told you:
i keep your old promises all tucked up inside,
like bruises sleeping fallow
along my hipbones.
i promise i'll love you always, i promise
i'll fix the coffee machine tomorrow,
and if you let me,
i'll fix you
well, you never were a fixer.
what you are is tired, and you never understood
why this fucked-up little town
unmade its bed, swallowed an ambien,
swallowed you. listen:
we were always comatose, clutching
hands gone cold
the less i knowsomething new: my breath hitched but the words meant nothing.the less i know4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i owed the light peserverent flattery in the form of prose,
stories of what could have been.
the gloom in which i slept was a system altogether unable to measure up to the new universe;
to exist together in perfect cognition is first to understand that i never wish to be better.
how pitiable this impure form to which we all succumb
littered with stars. i am temporary like them, almost, always and never.
I have forgotten how to live. it is late mornings during which i upturn my lazy eyes to the sky
against it's will. there, like you, live millions- and my mind is reborn.
the day comes. easily her gentle beckoning fills our minds. the sky is golden-blue:
unmasterable. we retract our wicked claws and our majestic selves
are now only threats we cannot perceive.
we lie nestled like tired humans together in the cold grass, and the blades are shining
wet with the tears of the dawn. we're late. we're forgotten
you touch the e
little white liestissue paper skin and barbed wire spineslittle white lies4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"i haven't been sleeping well."
butterfly wing smiles and porcelain bones
"the medicine will help."
sparrow hearts and rose petal hair
undersea eyes and sailboat stomachs
"these things pass in time."
dry-erasei exhale in long, unbroken paragraphs.dry-erase4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sky is never symmetrical on nights like these. the stars don't align perfectly on earth's axis, and you don't hesitate to point it out.
you examined the celestial bulbs, and screamed. you curse the sky & i string out each of my hopes on a winter breeze, and the wind stirs my bones. my skeleton freezes over & you notice. you reach out for my hand.
indifferently you sigh, and i inscribe my worries on my skin, pen scrawling over the expanse of flesh.
you lean in & smile. with the intimacy of tapeworms you breathe hot tiger-breath down my spine and try to exhale the hypergraphia from my flesh.
my words stumble. "that's not okay."
your smile descends into gaping anger. "don't be such a fucking freezer."
and that was it.
i started for the lake & didn't turn back to face you this time. frostbite warmed my limbs as i took my pen and wrote on my arm and the words lingered there.
and i slept in cold august waters, singing fervently to the frogs, d
Let the Sparrows InI.Let the Sparrows In4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Blackbirds rest on the power lines,
their silhouettes form the notation
to a dawn song set on the sheet music
of telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
on the lawn where imprints of twigs
and a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
porch step railings and mailboxes;
the numbers read odd on the east,
even on the west side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
the siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
so let the sparrows in.
with its branching hallways
furniture rooted to the floor
family, friends, the occasional
out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
Let the door's
loosen—let the door stand ajar
be let open
the night owls and
let the doves
in pairs in the iridescent
Let the sparrows in.
Framed on either side
a long awaited return.It was raining when we landed.a long awaited return.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to our sun-drenched systems,
stumbling with snatched-
Another bus, another train
whirring upon endless tracks.
We run, we flee through foreign streets
disdainful eyes stare on,
desperate for a taste
Coffee StainsDress shoes click on the streets laid slick with cinnamon and wasted airCoffee Stains4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's sugar on your lipstick, darling; a dangerous affair.
You chose coffee
Like you chose romance
Just for the idea of romance; cream and smoked wood swirling around in your cup,
And steam curling up into the atmosphere like the locks in his hair.
Tantalisingly dark and hauntingly aromatic
You craved it
You mocked the raven that eyed you from its branch out in the blustering courtyard and
You didn't even like the taste.
The silver curve of the teaspoon showed your warped reflection like a deathly omen
It showed the line of your neck and each glittering pearl
The hanging clock on the wall, for all its carved hearts and varnished oak
Couldn't quite drown out the tolling
Pendulum swinging by your ear as you ran your hand along the creases in the leather seat
The sweet, too-strong perfume mingling with the scent of the
Dark black coffee
Much as the gold around his wrist had
The FountainThere were sixteen tall windows. She'd counted them over and over when she was small, her chubby finger outstretched as she spun in tiny circles. Eight walls, sixteen windows, thirty-two black curtainsthe arithmetic of her childhood.The Fountain4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Eight window seats, Daddy. Eight buttons on eachsixty-four. I counted."
The fountain stood dry and dead-center in the middle of the black and white tiles. Eight sides, eight lion-mouth spouts. Sixteen limestone mermaids poised gracefully around the edge. Four thousand and ninety-six blue tiles. Five hundred and twelve white.
And two doors. Always the two doors, huge and solid and radiating a sense of looming disdain. The rough oak had bitten her hands and it bit them now, when she pressed her palms against it. The doors eased open like wings outstretching, coming to rest against stone doorstops.
Her boots clicked against the marble flooring as she advanced, each click reverberating through the silent room. A mute ghost of a man stood in
the hanged manThis little red book you call the human body:the hanged man4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
take it up and shake it. Shake the flaking pages
out of it, shake it from endpaper to endpaper
until the last of the phrases are gone; shake it
until it's aching and empty, the soul of a bird.
I will give you new words.
SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.Superimpose3 years ago in Sketches More Like This
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
the things they should have told ussee, no one really warns us about growing up.the things they should have told us4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
they leave out things like heartbreak and gossip and broken people you could have saved but didn't.
it is this: the girl who holds her wrists and sits alone and tells me no child should ever grow up being afraid of someone who should love them. Her eyes are fierce, and something inside me is screaming but the clock ticks and the moment is past. i pretend i can't hear the pieces of her shatter as they hit the floor.
the next time we speak there are new shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders hunch as if somehow she could fold into herself and disappear. maybe it would be better for us both if she did. but she doesn't. she can't and i can't and outside the sky is robins egg blue but inside a storm is brewing and the hallways smell of regret.
then, she is gone.
murmurs, rumors follow in her wake like dark ripples over stormy water.
she is gone, lost, taken, stolen, dead. in the halls, her name is whispered, softly, fervently, like a
cwe're travelingc4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the speed of light
and we won't stop for nothing
(there are no br(e)akes
in this vehicle called life)
so let's keep going until we can
reach the far edges of the universe
where the blackness seeps into your skin and
you passed the last star a couple thousand
light years ago;
and return home to each other as
old folks who've aged nothing but
gained knowledge of all the
mousetraps of the cosmos
earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:earth circuit3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
He'd light up the universe.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy
I love his eyes, now
Clouded white like milk from a poisoned tree
And his throat,
Swollen and clotted
And his lips blue as the
I try to get him to laugh but
His body is stuck and
fireflies in trainingonce upon a timefireflies in training4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i met a magpie
hatched in a nest of thieves
you might think this will be a tale
about how she grew up
turning story pages
and realized her brothers and sisters
as well as herself
and then she shifted
from evil to good
alas, but no
i came to her with a necklace
which she snatched in her beak
not to mention my wallet
and flew away
to share with her mafia family
but when she arrived at the nest
all she knew was
looking for what was lost
she flew across the globe
with jewelry rattling around her neck
she sat on the peak of the eiffel tower
soared together with soap bubbles in poland
was shot by a soft gun in japan
but nursed by a cup of tea
while i collected fireflies
in an empty jar
so i trained my jar of lit insects
to fly upside down
from her to me
we met again
and i complimented her necklace
she told me
«i have returned from a journey
i lost a leg
i saw the world
for what it is
birds sang about you
i learnt how you plucked
every egg of my famil