Starving sleep and apologies.My sleep is starving.Starving sleep and apologies.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is shivering sweat like snow
across my shoulders as I sob scream
after scream against your skin;
"sorry, I'm so sorry,
go back to sleep."
I am sad
and struggling to stay
together but you slump
against my sickness
and hold me
Hearing Half of a Conversation Forgive me for helping you understandHearing Half of a Conversation2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you’re not made of words alone.
—Roque Dalton; Clandestine Poems
I first learned how to build a house of playing cards in an adolescent psychiatric unit in suburban Chicago. A roommate taught me a trick, a mindset really, to have while placing the cards themselves— that a house of cards is always stacked against itself to stand. My trial-and-error attempts led to a lengthy row of playing cards
I would love to give upi.I would love to give up2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
'there's a second hand that holds mine, and stuffs the words back down my throat.'
her voice a crack--
sticks & stones breaking
between her teeth
but when she tries to find the sound
her pen runs dry
[can someone flip the switch to 'yes' or 'no'
i've been so de
& my head is saying 'maybe']
(i would ask myself,
but i don't trust liars)
she tries to string the words
down a thread
but they always c r u mb l e
(& the cinders burn
with the same old questions)
but when you turn
she'll be gone
there are rocks in her throat when she asks you for help.
the words grind to sand on her tongue.
smoke in her head
smeared across her hands
her fingers are broken;
o k e d
she reaches for some kind of
at the corner
& turn of each & every page
tell me baby, what's your story? i love you to the moontell me baby, what's your story?9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and back again, babycakes
were the words you tattooed
on the inside of my eyelids
and waking to see strands
SwallowI swallowed stones for a girl once,Swallow4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tethered a daughter to my arm,
raised her with my own hands,
and pulsed so much blood
through the wire
it became a vein.
Eventually I fell,
slammed to the floor,
like a marionette savagely thrown
against a wall.
My guts were full,
of sediment and
my stomach swelled too much.
I breathed dust and ants,
swallowed as much as I was able,
and tried to get up
with my daughter in tow.
Clumsily falling back over,
with bruised hands and
forced, rough, breathing,
I felt tension
from the other side.
The line pulled taut and hard
and dragged me from its end
across so many splintering boards
I bled from my fingers trying
to fight it.
it frayed and snapped.
Admittedly, I cried for it
and I shoveled debris and carted blood
swearing the whole time
I'd never swallow stones for a girl
Then I met you.
griefmary sleeps beside me, it is morning; we aregrief3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dream-sunk and tangled in her quilts
honey warm and bathed with sun, we are berry-stained
and slow-breathing, lips purple
from last night's wine -
it is morning; we are softened creatures
and the light has come to hold us.
mary's phone is a wasp, a bramble, is a vaguery that
we cannot be bothered with. it is morning and
mary's phone is wrathful, insistent, needling us
into a sluggish consciousness. we break the
surface without grace or tact and
it is morning, and he was just here
he was right here and he was breathing but now
he is gone; he has passed through, passed on,
passed into the other, the ether, the endless,
the place we cannot follow, has passed
away from mary, from the green and the gray,
from the earth that bloomed when we
were not paying attention, from the sky and
the hearts of the trees.
mary, it is morning; it is morning for mary and
she is disassembling before my eyes. i place my palm
flat on her spine and feel t
I could make a list,but I merely bit my lip when she asked me,I could make a list,3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"What is it you're thankful for?"
How could I tell her
I was thankful for this heart
that beats a thousand times over
when I hear her speak?
runoffchemicals course through myrunoff4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from underneath my fingernails
from my eyes
from out of my
Bitlets 215What can I build thatBitlets 21510 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
won't stand in the way?
rain and other things that dont existme and god used to hang out all the timerain and other things that dont exist1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
leaning on our fucked up elbows
opposite the train station
and it rained on us but nowhere else
i choke on being alive, i love breathing but i hate lungs
bury me and kiss me goodnight. me and god
fell out because of bodies. me and god
fell out because of breathing.
the blueprints of my body tell me
that my body is mathematically big enough
to contain all of heaven
exactly three point two times over.
my body isnt real
and i exist in it.
im touching something right now
but touch isnt real and the thing isnt real
god is another thing entirely. me and god
fell out because my fingertips shake, me and god
fell out because it didnt rain in california, me and god
fell out because of poems but thats another story
im breathing in my body but breathing isnt real
and poems arent real.
i had to build a poem without foundations and
when it rained it got washed away but what was left
was something like a body
objective criticism of creation includes th
only loveAn image flashes and shows meonly love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
waiting for the signal
to continue on my way
but I never make it.
a vehicle fast approaching
unseen and unheard
until it's upon me
and ends my journey,
all of my journeys
in the blink of an eye
a dazzling hail of glass
in colors of the street lights,
a violent whiplash of my hair
flowing through water
a wide-angle view one second,
a pane of white mesh the next
wrapped around my body
and every poem,
every love letter,
get-well card and shopping list
I would ever write
spills out of me
till it's all floating
in the oil-slick puddles
on the road and the pavement
my mind already sluggish
as I sat, placidly content
after a large dinner
an hour before
giving my car the reins
knowing the way home
and so happy that moment,
I didn't realize how much
now that night had come,
surrounded by a galaxy of
city lights like so many stars.
And all I remember feeling
was the love-
Twilight : Rewritten"You aren't still mad at me, are you?" Charlie asked.Twilight : Rewritten6 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I could not look at him. Instead, I pressed my nose against the truck window and watched the trees rush by. I wished that I could roll down the window so I wouldn't have to look at his reflection in it.
"I did it in your best interests, you know," he said, turning back to the road. "Your mom wasn't doing well."
"That doesn't give you any right to take me away from her," I said, fiddling with the lock on the door.
"It was for your well-being, Bella," he said. "I know you love her, and your devotion is commendable. But you can't keep putting your schooling aside for her interests. She's better off where she is. Full-time care, nurses at her every beck and call "
I couldn't speak. The lump in my throat was too heavy.
"Besides, it'll be nice to have a change of scenery," he said in a faux jovial tone, that tone that parents use when they're trying to fool you into thinking everything is fine. You know, that tone you stopped b
Ask Me ThisAsk me this riddle.Ask Me This2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Shake mist at me.
Kiss the a.m. every day.
Make his St. different; change it around.
Eks is math – it helps you to play.
Take Miss H home please. Why? Just because. The poor girl, she
Has mites, ‘k?
Is the mask slipping? A hit or a miss?
Surely the answer is to ask me this.
Chapter 1: Odyssey into 2012It's static --Chapter 1: Odyssey into 20124 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
trapped between her fingers, buzzing in her ears.
A heartbeat lost in the echoes of her rib cage.
And yes, of course: the intermittent pounding, the thundering, the rush of blood through her veins.
Was that fear?
She'd once been foolish enough to believe that no one could lure her in to this. A ribbon of smokescreen smiles, flashes of deceptive lies, and she was sold for the price of forever. As the cold air smacks into her face and turns her hair to tangled strands, she struggles to maintain her hold on the tattered calendar. It's ripped from the wall, December 2011 in bold Serif typeface filling the upper left corner. Eight dates circled in red. Eight trials, none of them easy, and her mouth runs dry at the thought. She folds the calendar and slips it into the right pocket of her jeans.
The scribbles of "Zephyr" and "Tokyo", etched so hard onto t
Perfect ContritionIn a proper Catholic church, everything echoes. Any sound uttered within the building bounces of the floor and the walls and the high, vaulted ceilings, so much so that I imagine that they could easily reach the ears of God himself. It's a rather poetic thought, the voices of mere mortals ringing towards Heaven with the help of good acoustics, but that thought's tempered by the fact that it includes every single noise: the coughs of emphysemic old men, the rustling of an impatient young girl's dress, and the taps of even the softest rubber-soled sneakers are no exception. On rainy days like this one, those shoes tend to squeak, which probably hurts God's ears as much as it does mine. If I didn't feel like I had to be here today, the noise would be enough to drive me out the heavy double doors.Perfect Contrition4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I didn't make it in time for Massand I honestly wasn't in a rush for it anywayso the church is mostly empty save for the few waiting in line for the confessional. This church h
OmegaIn the hollow of my hand, I hold eternityOmega4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cupped between dicebox bones and meatslab muscles,
Piano-string tendons and chopstick phalanges,
Shimmering black mercury, meltwater-cold, pools in my palm.
Here, standing at the rough seam of the world
Feet in the ocean, waves breaking on my knees
I hold a microcosm of realities
Here, where shore meets sea, where sky meets land
Where the stars flicker out, one by one,
Leaving empty night in their wake
And darkness, seeping in through pores and mouth and ears and eyes,
Curls tight and scarring round our bones
Leaving curlicues of black burnmarks,
Like ink from a demented writer's pen,
Scratching the final epilogue to a long-overdue-ending
I stand, and hold an infinite universe between my fingers
And let the world come crashing down.
At the Neal McDannel Art Opening, October 5thStanding among portraitsAt the Neal McDannel Art Opening, October 5th3 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
and friends, he says
my mother's death
was a mistake; she
had just been hiding
all these years.
And I woke
with a smile on
my face, even though
I knew it wasn't true."
holding hands in a hospital.he calls it "continental drift."holding hands in a hospital.5 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
flat stones stacked
into mausoleums that will seal him in
his sleep shakes,
countries falling to rubble;
his sleep is
a creature seldom seen,
its face etched in
he hasn't smiled in ages
but I remember it
the way I remember
and my own name,
god, how could I forget
those eyes, creased,
this human being
alive and breathing and
in my arms,
in my arms,
I have the luck of a
just to say that I can hold him
in my arms
here we are,
his body, my mind
in a tango, both
unaware of the other's steps,
and his fingers are feathers,
he's unaware of it,
I'm an invisible dance
and every second's
a bomb tattooed
on tired eyelids
pretty soon I'm gonna
final exhaust or
abandoned moth cocoon,
and I will never remember
how that apartment looks
or the way my children's names
will drop from my tongue
The Slaughtered Children.Why? Why? They were children! Children! How could someone strip a child, multiple children, of their innocence! How could someone strip them of life?The Slaughtered Children.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Children are one of the few good things in life. Always learning, not dispicable liars or haters or cheaters like the majority of adults, not able to commit horrendous crimes, not aware of the greater scheme of life going on around them. Believer's they are. In a child's mind, the characters of stories such as Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are alive. Magic is real and all around us, commanded and cast by the fairies who were blessed by the mighty kings and queens from far far away. In a childs dream, there is no deception, no hatred, no confusion. There is only light and happiness and love, and their imagination is never as strong as it if in childhood.
It is for those reasons, and many more, why I believe children should be treasured. For their beautifully bliss minds and perfectly balanced ignorance. For their imagination, raw and i
Ever TrulyYou'd have to slit my throat and kill me,Ever Truly3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Detaching my head from its enabled body,
To spill my thoughts and experience my dream world.
Only then could you ever truly paint
With all the pigments of my imagination to recreate
My fantasies and bind them in a book to finally read my mind.
You'd have to take a saw to my chest and cut me open,
Separating skin and bones from my soul,
To hear the broken beat and know my heart.
Only then could you ever truly see
The imperfection that is my genetic makeup
When all you've ever known is my flawlessness.
You'd have to crush my hands and smash my fingers,
Unbuttoning my joints, keeping these capable palms
From my will, never again to get a hold on my thoughts.
Only then could you ever truly feel
The empty weight of your hands hanging at your sides,
Knowing that mine no longer carry emotion.
You'd have to break my legs and unscrew my feet,
Leaving me without means of escape, so I could lay on my back
Forever, searching for lightless points on your po
Punctured“Car,” said the bicycle, “we need to talk.”Punctured8 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Oh, Assembly-Robot. Oh, exhaust. It’s one of those talks, isn’t it?” said the car. “About our relationship.”
“Yes. The thing is…” The bicycle hesitated. “I think we both just need a bit more space.”
“Oh.” The car looked around the garage. “It does need a bit of a clear-out. They could get rid of that old TV for a start…”
“No. No,” said the bicycle. “I’m talking about emotional space.” It sighed. “We both knew this was coming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a lot of fun. I really enjoy it when I’m strapped to your rack—”
“Will you keep your voice down,” said the car.
“—but anyone can see how well you’ve been getting along with the new moped. And sometimes… Sometimes I just feel like a third wheel.”
mushroom cloud "an explosion", she saidmushroom cloud2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I turned to ask her what she was talking about when I
caught sight of the tv screen, and for the tiniest of moments I caught
myself thinking that there's something beautiful about that much energy and
so much destruction; energy - would it wipe me off my feet? maybe melt the skin
right off of my bones? heat, death and poison, I don't believe there's much you or I
would be able to feel dying in those flames, and I should probably be ashamed that I