as we become ghostsThe air is smooth and thin,
running over my shoulders like buttermilk,
curling wax fingers
and smoke escaping my oak tree bones,
I don't know where I'll end up yet but
I know I'm close,
and I know I'm close because I'm still breathing,
inhaling that charred floral scent
where dahlias are breeding in the curves of my collarbone
and lilacs are blooming between each vertebrae,
intertwining with every rib, climbing them like strands of DNA,
oh you know I wouldn't mind if you used my ribs for a ladder,
go ahead and use me up like some sort of construction worker,
for my body is yours to take, my heart to break,
but I should let you know now that this love is a disease,
it will leave you in ruins with teeth like Aztec tombs rotting inside your mouth,
and it will leave your hands forming empty circles in the sky where the stars should be,
but all of this is okay because when we're together I can see the moon in your eyes
and the sun in your lips,
when they dare form a smile, your kiss
preludesi.preludes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
blue rose into the city backdrop
like balloons, a million for the
morning sun prelude.
i've not slept a dream
but i have cried a salty face
and letters spilled like beans
into my moleskine,
almost as virgin as i once was
with few stories between my covers.
the kettle's belly boils
like my head upon a pillow.
i am guilty for rarely finishing my tea
even when i use the small mugs;
pour, rinse, repeat.
perhaps today i will play dead.
perched behind my blinds
it dawns on me that i am surrounded
by walled neighbours, strangers,
they're just preludes to lovers
the way i am always
prelude to the one.
crystallophonethere is a punchcard sincrystallophone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a queen of spades smoldering in an alley.
you hear how the gears churn,
singing faster than we did before
back when black magic dropped like a
pair of socks from the sky with supplies
taped to a note that said
(oh, look at you now)
such a beautiful brain:
runs on gasoline?
have a gallon
or we can call it a balloon,
and a new pair of glasses
for your tapered eyes
(you peel the bark back on the logs,
but you're not sure what you see),
and life says,
either nail jello to a tree,
or keep your
icicles hanging from the eaves,
caterpillars frolicking in the ashes,
your 'Sam, I still don't have your number,'
and your totaled passion:
someone to hang inside out with,
string you up like a steak with.
what the hunger
is trying to tell me
my brain churns like butter,
my insides aflare, my chakras combusting,
Lilac II - tankaa star-glowLilac II - tanka3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
connects their breaths -
a river path.
in lilac light
she forgets to sigh.
lemonwe walk down the streetslemon1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a city named after the last thousand years.
a breeze floats by
and for a moment your hair lifts off your shoulder.
the way it doesn't touch you,
i want to touch you.
there are traces of lemon in your light,
a vague sense of mint on your fingertips.
the way honey tastes
drifts inside your shirt.
entering the city
walking calmly while the light falls
is like listening to your voice,
like waiting at the bell by the river
for a clamoring to do justice
to the patterns on the water.
the way the bells never end
i want to brush my hand against yours.
the way you drop lemon into your water
i want to live.
I'm Not Ready to Let GoYour fingertips carve melodies into my songbird skin,I'm Not Ready to Let Go2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
carbonizing my charcoal bones
so I can write sonnets on the sidewalk
with the ends of my chalky joints.
Oh how your grazing hands
Your propane eyes
burn me up,
your toothy smile
ties me down.
I hold my breath
because these moments are fragile
as they are finite,
and I close my eyes
because love shouldn't be this ugly
or this hard to find.
Harvest MoonThree a.m. moonlightHarvest Moon2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
across lazy dust motes; a
tree scrapes the window.
Your arm weighs on my hip like
whispered promises of love.
Pausing By The WineMarriage isPausing By The Wine2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the frustration of reality
when the man who works the wine section
pauses in his tracks to make sure
you've found everything you "really need...are you sure?"
With a look that tells you
he finds you sort of beautiful
and you wonder how your life
might be different,
if any man other than this one
had ever looked at you like that.
JayAcorn wedged between bone feet,Jay2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In awkward rhythm of white-tipped
Blue tail, there, he precisely
Brings his point of beak, and again,
Again, piercing down; now,
Meat the color of old mustard shows,
And the big head tilts, the crest
Lays flat, the slick throat shuttles.
His bright eyes dart quickly about.
If he had hands he'd rub his belly.
the art of making loveyou and i make lovethe art of making love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
without ever taking our clothes off:
through the cheesy poems we write for
each other, through all the sidelong
glances across the dinner table. your
palm pressed into the small of my back,
or when i have to reach up on my toes
(or sometimes, jump) just to place my
arms around your neck. when we nuzzle
our noses like inuits in the cold and
talk about growing old together. when
you start to fret when we aren't
holding hands, when i see your face
in a mirror and smile and suddenly
feel beautiful. all the gentle kisses,
laughing until my ribs might crack,
holding back tears when it's been too
long since i've seen you.
this is how we make love.
My Beautiful DisasterBroken boyMy Beautiful Disaster2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with your coffee
I should have been
forewarned to stay away
but your lips
curved in a cynical smile
and your eyes
saw the bitterness of the world,
I longed for your artist's fingers
to give me a caress,
I see you smoking in bed
among twisted sheets
while we for a moment
forget the pain of the world,
but in the end we are
destined to destroy each other,
it was never love
that drew us together
but the beauty of your mind
and the languid litheness of your body,
the cracks in your heart,
and despair in your soul,
but I was never the one
to give you what you require,
you are an ideal
I desired to posses,
and I was there when you were lost
so I became your latest form
while you made me forget the void
yet never could satisfy its emptiness,
we took each other to oblivion
only pretending to be saved.
short-term memory.and you'll never forget:short-term memory.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
When you realized that everybody dies alone.
When you didn't take your eyeliner off one night, so in the morning
your eyes would look as hollow as you felt.
When you spent a year blacking out the sad endings in your books.
(When you wished that life could also work like that.)
When you learnt that "We need a break" means "I am going to break your heart."
When you fell in love with the stars, and the way he says "us."
When he told you, "More than just a long time."
The first time you hung up to the sound of your father laughing.
When you walked home from a party in January, and couldn't remember
if you were still breathing.
When you begged him to let you be sad, and he smiled and said, "No."
When you saw the irony of drawing trees on paper – and how alive you've felt
after being sure you were dead.
I am not RecyclableAs if I were recyclable,I am not Recyclable2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your eyes break me down,
your gaze melts my aluminum limbs
and disintegrates my paper bones,
my heart leaps from the flames
and rides along the surface of your tongue,
because if you only knew how much I love you,
your taste buds would be burning for my blood,
if you only knew,
but you don't,
and I sure as hell can't tell you,
because you would use me
only to then throw me away.
The Art of Consent: BurlesqueHowever,The Art of Consent: Burlesque2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i can use the rounded corners of
sullen eyes, too-short fingernails,
magnanimous hips, and frosted lips
pressed crackling against the
porcelain dream he
so blackly freed against me.
i am four inches envy and
six inches will,
and completely engrossed in pursuit of
And he, still violent and violet, is there,
unconvinced and scared, and so perfectly
He finds me tied, vaudevillian, to his
falling from mind to mouth,
from mouth to spine.
Where contact confuses
sexually transmitted attention for
sexually transmitted affection,
there is not time to obscure the view that
condemns him to what is malign
and otherwise known as misunderstood.
And i felt his eyes eating up where i stood,
felt my heart burning up what it could,
dropped a flatline to
pick him off my hemline, and understood
what it meant to be in control.
i love the heady derision provoked
simply by the act of undressing, no smoke,
except for that of the opiate crowd and
no mirrors, ex
Ottumwa ShamanIn Iowa, weeping willows dream ofOttumwa Shaman3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tigers, born in pagan fog, their
Coat of stripes singing shaman
Songs; shrill symphonies of grief.
Heaven tilts, crashes, and we race
The dirt to get away. We drink the
Earth with bullets of air and grow
Dizzy, light-headed from breathing
Some far off flame. Perhaps a poet
Who braved the fog of Ottumwa, and
Caught fire. Every cowboy has his
Six chances before high noon, before
The fog forms wispy jackals to take
Them home again. Every son inherits
An empty gun, six voids to fill with
Answers, skimmed and guessed from the
Covers of books their fathers used
To read. There is no other way.
In sleeping, I have been to Iowa,
And I learned where wiccans go
To make their bed. I do not know now
If I had dreamed the weeping willow,
Or if it had bent low to dream of me.
In Iowa, there is no such truth, only
Depth, and the shaman's song of grief.
I Dream of WolverinesAn alabaster calla lily blooms out of my belly button,I Dream of Wolverines2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I pull on its vines to remove its roots,
but I only end up more tightly wound
in ribbons of green and of sorrow,
and now I'm sleeping more than I wake,
because I dream of wolverines, long dresses,
and old buildings collapsing like old people,
I can't look away nor can I open my nighttime eyes,
I live in a world of hedonistic passion,
one where we consume salamander hearts
just as much as we consume each other.
The Art of ForestryIf it were only appropriate to speakThe Art of Forestry2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a single touch, of what it means,
of what it feels.
Our forearms graze and so I hold very still,
I never want to lose a second of
you against me.
My entire being shivers along the
shores of your skin
and all of my nerve endings are electrified
when I imagine our relationship evolving into
lilac limbs, freshly kissed lips, and
lieing next to you on rainforest floors.
We create a completely nuclear reaction,
a mixture of fusion, friction, and fascination.
So believe me when I say, oh boy I love you,
I really do,
yes, I want you so,
closer than tires upon pavement,
and like a car you turn into me,
and like a car you take me places,
you even take my daydreams to extraordinary realms
where I wake in the midst of the woods,
the air is slick and crisp
and I can feel your muddy, autumn hands
dancing along my flaking, fir tree flesh,
the dirt runs damp between our toes
and we become nothing but creatures of the forest;
living off each other's lo
Come Home: A PantoumYou'll always come back to meCome Home: A Pantoum2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
when the lights in the far hills
are done searching. For, new beds
entice adventurers. Too,
when the lights in the far hills
come home, the homespun dream they
entice adventurers too,
but they can't. (Dream we're neither.
Come home.) The homespun dream they
turn pioneers to homebodies,
but they can't dream we're neither,
our wanderlust fit to turn
pioneers to homebodies.
We've always made love free, so
our wanderlust fit. To
turn ourselves towards our home
we've always made love. Free. So
when the last adventurers
turn themselves toward their homes
in faraway lands, I know,
when the last adventurers
are done searching for new beds
in faraway lands, I know
you'll always come back to me.
a second skeletoni. introductiona second skeleton1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i was born 4425 miles away from here.
my heart still lingers there.
i don't want to have it back.
i go through the motions,
don't ask me for emotions.
i once thought i could be happy,
my mistake can be forgiven;
i was so much younger.
now i know better
than to expect anything.
because the only time you can lose,
is when you love something.
that's why i love myself.
Stitches in SilverCrumpled in her palmsStitches in Silver1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
it became nothing more than a ball of tinfoil.
With blunted corners
protesting /*¬\`| their way from the curl.
I watched her bite her nails
until the fingers swelled with blood
around the edges,
I did not stop her. I did not want to stop her.
Dissatisfied with the destruction
She put the packet on the table,
rubbed it out smooth
until it was flat and dull once more.
She tugged at the perforated veins
Until they dis
She ripped and dug the blunted corners of her hands
Until the seeds popped out.
Pale faced imitations of her own blank face.
I did not stop her. I did not want to stop her.
She ordered them into a firing line
and carefully, consideredly,
she ground her fist into them.
She made them into dust.
Finally, generations too late, the tears came
and then I went to her.
To pick up the pieces, to sew up the holes.
Dishwasherafternoon light flickersDishwasher10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
through the curtains
like a moth
her fingers brush
the lined edge
of a plate
as the sink fills
the sound of paper, displaced
shifts behind her
the careful steps
the cat takes
across the table
outside the roses
trace their shadows
across the lawn
The Quiet Thoughts of Butterfliesshe says "I'm worried if I breatheThe Quiet Thoughts of Butterflies3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
too loud the silence will
I watch her hands press butterfly
wings between the pages.
does she know that
I'm the queen of silence?
my corpse lungs and
graveyard lips; a decomposing
tongue lurking behind white-washed
tombstones. paint me with sunbeams,
I'm still the same.
[death warmed over]
her tropic gaze rakes over
the bone-white snow. "I keep
swallowing the snow-flakes. they
remind me of frozen flowers.
their dead sweetn
moondust.we live in a world where our lungs are black and outlined with angry streaks of red. we plant diseases and destruction in the holes of our stomachs and watch them grow they shoot up fast and clog up our throats with ashy leaves.moondust.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
our fingernails are ripped, jagged edges digging into pale skin and leaving white hot lines in their wake. our wings are crumpled, feathers bent and pressing into the expanse of our backs they're the weights on our shoulders, and there's no space left for anything else.
your tongue is cracked and so is mine. words no longer form, sounds no longer rise. dreams and wishes fall into the cracks as nightmares rush past them out into the open. that breathtaking sequel to life you were hoping for no longer exists we are now aimless, hopeless, and craving for sin.
we swallow moons and exhale moondust; we stray from orbits and into vacuums. but all we ever wanted were the touch of lightly powdered lips against our flesh.
A Piece Of YouI touch the strings of my guitar,A Piece Of You2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And they spiral inward,
Everything I touch seems to fall part.
Falling into darkness,
A depressive state,
This was my fate.
We started as perfect strangers,
Boys meets girl,
Or Girl meets boy.
A perfect sensation,
You drove me into fixation.
A goddess of a sort,
I guess that's what you were to me.
Yeah, I guess that's what you were to me.
That friend of yours,
He takes a sip of tea then whispers in your ear,
You smile and you whisper in his,
Singing a melody,
Sweet, like the summer days past,
You look at me, I look to you,
A cold stare, hasn't winter passed?
My heart shakes, until it breaks,
I put on a smile that looks fake,
And I put out my hand,
Reaching out to grab a piece of you,
You, a piece of history,
You, with a sweet melody,
I sleep breathlessly,
I turn blue; I'm holding my breath for you.
My mind in a maze,
I can't put together those days.
I pass you by, without a thing to say.
We're still young, and it's silly to be thinking like this.
cliffcliffcliff2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on velvet roads,
I impale a belated dawn
with my incisors and
shiver with perfect leaves-
I have no qualms
with the dark hills
and stagger into
a bed of scorched fly husks:
the thrum of the ground
with the rapids in
my clairvoyant ears.