Gorgon Syndrome Be the shadow of the sundial; the narrow valley on the stone.
That is what they use to say to the contracted. That is what they had said to me and marked me and sent me to the gardens peopled by the solitude of statues. Statues that take the form of men and women and children in various stages of unrest. Some are seated between their hands stony newspapers. Some meditate in the pools of the fountain and stare into clear rippling water as if these events held some portents.
Others merely stood in the field, their heads tilted toward the sky and whether in these moments they were captured staring into the sun or the rain or perhaps the moon they all looked longing and uncertain. Their shadows wavering like a child's pinwheel; in motion but without motion. Stagnant, contained in the mercy of the hand that holds them.
I wait in the quiet morning.
A cool, white mist across the entropic sanctuary of statues or prison or graveyard. Alone, I fear the sight of the ones that had become st
A Champagne SongHe played his champagne flute till his eyes,A Champagne Song4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With red roots, saw the world of ghosts,
And his bow tie became black arms, and his heart was knotted,
He watched her dance with long legs and dark fabric,
He watched her tempt him and refuse him,
And accept him like pennies in a Styrofoam cup,
A squatter in the house with broken windows,
Chased in by the rain, chased away by the smell,
Of every gambler in town with sleepless beards,
And they give her their jackets to wear with heart sleeves,
Though he does the laundry and runs her bath; praying,
He's no singer but her praises sound like hymnals,
His shadow always touched her with long fingers,
And he knew her spine well,
But not her eyes,
They found the windowsill and the moon all night,
Then the morning came and she looked better in the stars,
And he knew his shoulder had grown so damp
The Maker and Mercury.I waited for the stars at noon,The Maker and Mercury.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With eyes once called beautiful,
But have since faded to the paint,
Reserved for public pools,
As I worked for the Ormolu.
And my beloved had not the heart,
To tell me that what my ink stains,
Did nothing for her tiredness,
And she slept so soundly these days,
As I fought for the Ormolu.
Yet as I glided the fires of gold,
And whined when I tasted the water,
Claiming wormwood had given it licks,
My fingers have all swollen up,
As I slaved for the Ormolu.
That night I had given her a gift,
A kiss from my Mercury lips,
I brought her a message that sung,
To stir her from her sleep,
As I cried for the Ormolu.
Though my lover has died since then,
By her bedside I waited for her nightmares,
To chase her into my loving arms,
Which have grown numb extended outward,
So long the blood is gone and they strain,
Against the weight of surrender,
As I died for the Ormolu.
flickering.there are daysflickering.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i want my skin to melt
like wax so i can watch my
heart dream, dilate, digest
i am a sleepwalker,
a toy soldier aimed
at the horizon, and you
are watching me fall
off the edge
of the world in a rush
of fire and gasoline
smoke and love
i am standing on the sun
in pink stilettos
and i'm nothing more than
a wax figurine
The Cold ManA cool breeze invading his space, just a tease from the outdoors with winter slowly fading out the snow for rain, heavy rain, unrelenting rain that hits and splashes and collects and floods and rattles and dances along the window. He sits, as always, nowhere to go for the man who knows, knows everything and at the same time not enough to save his own life or stay the hand of troubling tides. His suit is razor sharp, smooth against a killer's body. Tight muscles, sure, strong arms, of course, but did it matter? His touch as cold as ice, like he brought it with him from afar, overseas, from the sea, the arctic sea. Everything tight, his hair slicked back, tight against his skull, his lips tightly locked (secrets to keep) eyes narrowed tight, focused, like the hawk. Always a predator because there's always a prey.The Cold Man5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
His stare was a thousand yards long, through your skin, in your skin, under your skin; it was crawling inside of you, finding your weakness like a virus. When you saw him that f