Eurydiceyou keep secrets like souvenirs.
your heart is a postage stamp,
your lungs, a pair of dusty
snow globes; I trace
a model Eiffel Tower
in the lines of your neck, an Arc
de Triomphe in the arch
of your back, a collection of
to rival the Louvre
assembled behind your eyes.
I gather each glimpse,
each fragment, every hint
of the things you've tried to hide
and hoard them
in the galleries of my mind,
curating my love for you
like a dense, Orphic art.
lapsedyou've eaten my clairvoyancelapsed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I've nowhere left to turn;
vermin stray like fingers
down my gullet.
"I do not love you"
are five words fit to kill:
I close my teeth over my tongue.
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.
AcquittalWon't you leave me? I will love youAcquittal2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
more than if you stay, transfixed
to the point of reference, our bodies
melding a sad, soft sublime, the back
spine of a little universe blown out
like a crafter's hot glass, the growing
moment, the wonder, the expansion
before a chill.
Before You HowledI had forgotten for so long why I sang,Before You Howled2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so many, my song turned into tumbled
bedsheets, bodies strewn,
nectar of a kiss overdone.
The lonely hoot low and languished,
I loved, My Love, I loved strong
and solid, the hollow notes,
the lonesome bones.
Crow, she came and whispered in my ear,
said your song is lovely dear,
take a feather from my wing, we beat
somewhat the same.
But the song, it was the same,
beneath the shadow of the bat, as
the love of a man
I nearly slew.
When she would call, month's later
the chiming at my ear, o' my heart
my little heart,
I heard her and she was me,
and I, without us, her little
black wings, my greedy perch, months
I'd call back, filter through the poems
I hear your notes in me.
Some nights she whispered love stories
of a girl, small-handed
across the mountains, a candid song
of love and loss
and loving loss, that which learns
to rumble after. She wrote of you,
far across, the distance
a somber color.
O, I listened to her song an
untitled from the lost weeksI'm not that girl anymore,untitled from the lost weeks2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lost in the cornfields,
waiting to be hurt.
You live the only way you know how
until one day, maybe,
you wake up.
See there are people who will love you,
but just because they do.
Learn a new way to love yourself,
stop believing you don't deserve
happiness, take a risk,
Know it's okay to start expecting
to be safe,
practice saying no. Catch a glimpse
of your white face
in the mirror and whisper to your ghost,
I won't let you get hurt.
on the afterlifethere was a heaven, once,on the afterlife1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and it was made of grass and
the ground that crawled under it
opened up wider than your mouth and
i saw mountains: i saw
beauty, it was a rough
inverted fountain. i saw
Jesus. he said 'death
is The Promise, and The Promise
never leaves us.' i saw
diamonds, and i saw coals
too it just took a while
to find them. i saw
lucifer. he was sewing
me a nightgown made of
soft liquor slurs. i saw
my brain. it told me
'thanks for the x, not
so much the cocaine.' i saw
my skin strung out to dry
after a long summer rain. i saw
my bones become the frame
of a house beside a lake. i saw
my tongue cradle babies and
tell them, 'the sleep is worth
the wake.' i saw a mirror made
of big blue tears. it said,
'the shit was worth the wait.'
sleep, as an elephant1.sleep, as an elephant2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it is strange to see you
older and out of love with me
it is similarly strange to see me
younger and out of love with you.
i want to
throw my arms around your neck
thank you for
leading me to believe in love,
thank you for
showing me what the cock does
when it crows and summons the morning.
thank you for laying in my bed,
breathing my breath.
thank you for laying in my bed,
with your head on my breast
listening to the fluttering
bird in its nest.
thank you for staining my bed-
with your salt, it was blessed.
thank you for leaving my bed,
giving my dreams to its next.
thank you for, out of all the rest,
choosing me as the first, remembering
me with the best.
thank you for june,
and then june again.
thank you for december, and
thank you for the time
that helped me break my body in-
thank you for two ticks
on the wall of not-forever.
thank you for june to june to december.
in a few years,
when you are older still and i am
getting even younger, i want to take
visionsthe night is a terrorvisions2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
the ships in the bay
struggle for an answer
but can't bring themselves to stay
silence folds over
like a funeral pall
there is no other reason
I've given this my all
but imagine an evening
stormier than this
riding the feverish waves
in apocalyptic bliss
think of a season
deadly and depraved
our hope's our only lighthouse
and we both need to be saved
and she's there
the ocean is stirring
the water is blurring
could never have dreamt this
falling to pieces
in your eyes
in my mind
it's never a struggle
there's never any strife
when her hands reach out like marble
to pull you back from life
the heart of a being
so vast and so sublime
but so afraid of seeing
what she's done this time
but imagine a story
headier than ours
a delayed masterpiece
we've been held here for hours
think of the rest
of our lives to be lived
but the sea's deep unrest
makes me fear we must give in
'cause she's there
the ocean is stirring
the water is blurring
sci-fi stories about the end of the world1.sci-fi stories about the end of the world2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the species invents prophecies
all of which contain terrors
a beleaguered sun collapses into itself
It's not yet night when the committee interrupts the regularly scheduled programming
and describes the inertia as unforgivable.
Outside the grief, the cardboard:
Every time you teach a computer about distance
the terrorists win.
In every scenario: No colorado left,
and survivors leave messages
for the future.
Before the last people on Earth forgot how to speak,
he thought of that day.
The committee was right
to describe space as an absence.
The more artistic
of the species' prophecies include fields
such as here and there
relative to the everywhere of the other thing.
The other thing is often the cause
of whatever terror has been imagined.
The terror, of course, being another word for nothingness.
someone is remembering the pacific-
a maniac fires his rifle into a crowd
later, the news interviews a woman,
"All i remember are balloons"
they say this is w
hungry womankiss me where i'm starving,hungry woman10 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
a hungry woman's love is startling.
drop your lips down my wrist,
grab my hair, strip my kiss-
the tongue is equipped
with two loves, one:
skin, the other larceny
open me up
take my shadows
lick my wounds
lift my fears
take me down
through the mountains
and haunt me. i never
wanted you to steal my dreams,
but i wanted you to watch me in your
sleep behind my eyes where you could
calm your lungs and ease your mind.
breathe until your
breath tastes fine.
we take turns being strong,
you and i, though i'll admit-
you are the strongest most of the time.
lick my wounds while i heal,
make me yours, make you mine.
kiss me where i'm starving.
a quiet man may have
the loudest heart, but
a hungry woman's love
stomachedyou blush and bruisestomached3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with sidewalks, stones,
the quiet doorways in your thighs
and the weight of your purple
tongue against mine
(a carnival of teeth)
if you swallowed the moon
with your agate jaws,
you could not be more nacreous
ZemiThings having to be returned to their transparency:Zemi2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
/ green mist-earth / knit
atmosphere / fathomless
blue-lavender / lights
spun out from light
are recalcitrance / and you
& - a fingernail of summer
- a melting of rain
- a crown of flowers
- a priest of sunsets
(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.
Zemi. are you beautiful because I love
you? Zemi? )
I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam
over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution.
To Rilke, it's a melody that floods over us
when we have forgotten how to listen for it.
I never could forget this: for how could I know
my hand as both well and chasm? and how could I know
time, a windstruck dimension, standing in her white street?
We go on morning walks and Zemi
laughs at everything I say.
water processspirit-sloth and overdone;water process2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wonder-lost and undercome:
you are trenchant, sweet love.
you planted early mornings-
I lay coffee-drunk and thin;
the stir of your brown hands.
Leaping For Salvationi. i've been dangling off a cliff forLeaping For Salvation8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the past year.
ii. if i don't jump to my death -
i'll die waiting for him to
iii. if you don't kill her,
iv. i'll just have to take her to hell with me.
terminali.terminal2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we landed in oklahoma
and drank cheap martinis in the terminal;
you carried my guitar and fell in love
with my voice but not my tongue,
not my hands.
there's a man with a garage
that looks like a plane because nothing
meant more to him. will you make a model
of that bar? will you make a model
of my red cheeks? or will you live in a townhome
with her and three children?
the problem was you're not gay.
the problem was there was feeling
but it wasn't for us. i had you but
it wasn't for us.
i'm not sure if i resent you,
but i remember that bar and every pockmark
on the stool you sat on while i played
the song that parted your lips;
you remember every pockmark in oklahoma
like they were ours.
the all goldenleaves rattle past,the all golden2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ushered like so many children of the wind,
and the wind has left them dry and brown like
milk-tea. he drinks to warm his hands and belly,
lemonade glasses in the glass door armoire.
when he stands,
his bones creak like branches dried by the wind,
grey and peeling, potpourri of autumnal whim;
when his wife comes home, she will collect the scraps of bark
and rub them with rose oil or maybe tangerine and leave them
in the parlor, beside the glass door armoire.
in the evening,
the sky has forgotten its stars but a few peek through
suburban haze. he lived in the country, once, and he told me
he wouldn't have left. he would sleep beside barren fields and
leave the pear tree in its native soil and uproot all the flowers
first known to other homes. he would marry a woman grown on corn
and forget his youthful reveries.
and in the summer i daydream; i pick the ripest pears and let
the others fall for the birds and sweet rotting stench, because
hope is a sweet r
the girl with love in her bonesHer lips are a smoky colorthe type of chapped things with paled, cracked edges and words hanging off, clothed by the least incessant whines and the most liberating cries. They're somewhat extended and exemplified through the cigarette in her moutha thin figure held between the sticks of her fingers with filtered lips of its own, ashing edge, a paled body, and a slow burning with every breath. The grayed portions fall off in a dirty, snow rubble on the sidewalk, burning into it, leaving small holes by her feet.the girl with love in her bones3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I don't understand," I say.
She sighs, breath coming out white, warm in the icy air. "It's a human thing." Her eyes are red, raw around the skin, and her corneas glint blue above the thick smoke, like a cat'sexcept it wasn't darkness, but the exhaust of flameclouds before morning rain, the lights of a city blaring through the smog of night.
"I still don't understand."
"It's liberating," she says, and I can see her eyes on mine. Her nose is flushed red lik
maybe she's too youngAstrid smelled of plums. It was a gentle scent, emanating wisps of invigorating pleasure.maybe she's too young2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She smelled glorious, mouthwatering, delicate. I couldn't resist such an aroma.
She looked so frail. She had skin stretched across her limbs in flimsy, translucent layers.
I was terrified of touching her, afraid she'd crumple beneath my fingers.
Her lithe, bird bone fingers caressed my blistered calluses. Astrid then pressed her icy
palms to my aching flesh. Silly girl, she was trying to comfort me.
It was wrong. I felt bloated, my chest inflated with conflict. Better judgment swelled
against my callous ribcage, uncaring and simply unconcerned.
And yeah it was wrong, but she was delicious.
Hubblethe space between starsHubble2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the night sky,
an eyelash's breadth,
contains billions of whirling
galaxies, lightless regions,
breathless clumps of dark matter
and other unimaginable mysteries.
and this reminds me of you.
nothing like the sunit occurs to menothing like the sun2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that I do not love you
as much as I should.
your voice is not
musical to me,
is not by far
my favourite sound:
I prefer the skeletal
tones of a harpsichord,
the rustling of the pages
of old books,
the wild clanging
of a projector
winding up its film.
nor do your eyes
hold for me
visions of the stars,
in all their fierce, deranged
intensity: I love the sight
of a massive, gaseous
more than that of your
the touch of your hands
sends me in no quixotic raptures
that the lazy fronds of a lily
or the crushed softness of velvet
skin is skin, and quite frankly,
I've felt better.
I have no such love
as is described by the
old poets, those masters
of drama and artifice;
I wonder if I am
incapable of it.
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,shhh2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the empty edge of a lightless stage,
curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.
he asks as an afterthought
do you believe in something holy? and i think yes,
i think this is what i believe in.
Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owenAccident2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before