Framed[ I met him at the county fair.Framed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
I'd helped him with his leather suitcase,
struggling to get a grip of the situation
I gave a habitual kiss goodbye. Awkward. ]
[ He met another girl in group therapy.
They had a mad, passionate affair for a year
then, it expired. Shortly after, she did too.
He came to me, life turning to sand. ]
[ I forgave him at my birthday party
surrounded by friends wh
insomnia to keep you closefalling asleep with the windowsinsomnia to keep you close2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
open, with morning curling
around you like a drop of blue
ink in a glass of water,
turquoise and unwritten;
remembering when early dawn
was a secret you kept
in a soft, aortic pocket—
your dead lighter spinning
to the floor of Lake Ontario,
a halo of its bygone, synergetic flame.
the boston marathonThe poem was supposed to be about the earththe boston marathon3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shifting under the weight of so much movement,
thousands of pulsing feet pressing it forward.
The Ringslender, tarnished silver bandThe Ring4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
rests in palm of withered hand
ancient promise, absent stare
detritus falls like snow on hair
wedding present grand oak bed
ghosts of words the mirror said
rain-rot splintered windowsills
caustic crumbs of guilty pills
footprints in the carpet dust
canopy of velvet shame
the progeny of lies and tears
divests her of her souvenirs
and grateful for the life she gave
the heirloom never meets the grave
TwelveThe orchids shiveredTwelve3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the sound of
raw fingers on
your old guitar,
smell of tarnish, metal
and un-calloused skin -
the only songs you know
are your father's
lullabies and a
Christian rock band's
four cords strong.
Played on hot weekends
with the windows open,
twelve years old again,
fat against the waistband
of Walmart jeans
and straw hair stuck
to your forehead
in humid summer air.
I can't feel you here,
in the apartment,
know you're twelve years back
in a different town,
with no stubble on your chin.
the drifterthe drifter2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i tried to tell you that Marley was a ghost,
but you wanted to walk with wings
across gleaming midnight.
How marvelous, this stone stands
sturdy and musty; this glorious church holding up a ticking sun
that slowly cracks the trippy stained glass.
you drilled way below the church stone,
and found dried palm leaves and old joints
like clues to the map of an exceptional life.
I love this torrential literature,
I love a racing heart.
i cannot sleep, i keep dreaming,
ezekiel's visions leave me breathless.
Take it up with the Big Man.
Surely the cannabis creator
must exude a presence that lingers on synapses.
i've lost my ability to fly.
a tender sky with reddening clouds,
the sights of death give birth to no life.
Well, I'm l
en routemy body is theen route6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
on main street;
my body is the
burnt hull of an
only now in repair;
my body is a
feeling of shame,
a pungent rot,
a score of roadkill
in half decay.
my body is migratory:
a flock of wearied birds,
a search for belonging,
the fat on my hips.
with too few windows
and a steep indoor climb,
my body is home.
What Am I? Lingering in that photo...What Am I?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In that simple shot
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
Sometimes, I remember the way
lifting builds me up.
But I am not a woman.
Lingering in that photo...
A wisdom of some sort
has trickled into my features
I see glimpses of it now.
In that momentary shot,
I look, and see memories there
In the darkness of my eyes.
In the taming of my smile.
In the strain stretched over my brow.
I am not a child.
And I am not a woman.
the theatreit is a Tuesday afternoonthe theatre2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I observe
the proscenium arch
of your spine.
I am separated from you
by several degrees,
a world and a half,
the ornate, sweeping divide
between watcher and watched
(and you've never cared
to break the fourth wall)
wanderlustshe was a s e v e n t e e n year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.wanderlust4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then on her eyes were always her favorite feature].
she always had nightmares, never good dreams, but maybe that's because she could never stop d r e a m i n g with her eyes open. all she ever wanted was dirt roads and stars and mud under her fingernails.
[maybe one day, when she's older, she'll take a crinkly old map and
SupernovaShe only ever wanted a real reason to scream, collecting her tears in jars and hiding them behind Poe and Hemingway; she secretly hoped for an ocean to call her own. She would name it after an aged bird spirit, pain manifested in many a Gods imagebelieving our vast universe formed by the callused hands of artists.Supernova3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"They must have a sick, twisted sense of humor." she said, eyes on the moon.
And I asked her "Who?" curious, because I'd yet to figure her out.
"The Gods; they give dead stars the prettiest of names."
Just A HorseFrom time to time people tell me,Just A Horse5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Lighten up, it's 'just a horse'."
Or, "That's a lot of money for 'just a horse'."
They don't understand the distance traveled,
The time spent,
Or the costs involved for 'just a horse'.
Some of my proudest moments have come about with 'just a horse'.
Many hours have passed and my only company was 'just a horse',
But I did not once feel slighted.
Some of my saddest moments have been brought about by 'just a horse'.
And in those days of darkness,
The gentle touch of 'just a horse'
Gave me comfort and reason to overcome the day.
If you think it's 'just a horse'.
Then you will probably understand phrases like;
'Just a friend',
'Just a sunrise',
Or 'just a promise'.
'Just a horse' brings into my life
The very essence of friendship, trust, and pure unbridled joy.
'Just a horse' brings out the compassion and patience
That makes me a better person.
Because of 'just a horse',
I will rise early,
Take long walks,
and look longingly into the future.
So for me and
Idylliche always spoke of the romantic stance in a smokerIdyllic3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
whose every gasp was like a suicidal swansong, he
wrapped himself up so tightly in unwarranted wishing, when
they stripped him free, he then stumbled into the sunlight
and burnt [out]
no one laced his pillows with lavender and moonbeams
and all the other things that call dreams out from
hiding; but he still prayed upside-down overdone
every evening for a falling star to find its way
instead, they surrounded him with [a grain of]
salt circles like curses to draw out the weaknesses
temptation had embedded in him, because
nothing beautiful was ever built atop a rotten foundation
(one exception: architecture of shattered resplendence)
and no one ever got anywhere by treating the
thorns in their side as a reminder to remain
more prominent than the injuries they would inflict.
he's broken (he does not reflect) he wanes and worries
as his heart choruses "not enough," ever-growing
as his fears acclimate and his pulse sings- some
flyover state, flyover heartthere's almost nothingflyover state, flyover heart1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
left of august, or me -
just fat, humid yawns that
cling to the asphalt and
vinyl sidings of houses
prettier than any autumn day.
chlorined kids rise from the
tanned wake of public pools,
clothed in school uniforms,
counting the new freckles
they've earned like war badges.
the nights i can lay in my
underwear beneath spider web
blankets while my wheezy fan
oscillates and whispers dusty
stories are numbered.
but i'll hold the moon
as it crests over summer's
dying vigil, my arms high
around it's wondrous girth.
i'll ride the heat into the
ashes of three months spent
dreaming in fevered euphoria.
i'll lead the impassioned
thousands down margins tucked
into a waning, wailing cry.
and i won't rest, even after
august is buried between blue
lined composition pages in a
coffin of lead - a memory with no
scent becoming one without a heartbeat.
Fill in the blank.Sometimes people leaveFill in the blank.3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
these why-sized holes in our lives
after they depart.
bridgesrivers rush beneath my ledge of hope.bridges3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they've caged me in,
but my heart plunges towards its lullaby anyway;
and it's selfish.
but i am rarely selfish -
except for moments like these
when i let my mind wander and convince my heart it's ok to want.
it's ok to be free.
we're only window shopping for a better tomorrow
because we're tired of yesterdays
and it's ok to want something better
(even if we've no clue what it'll look like when we find it
and we're frightened we'll miss it).
we're afraid it'll drift by as we
play with our imaginary fires,
with our ideas of better days;
of better lovers
who are strong enough to watch
as our feathered soul perches
atop the suicide railing
of every bridge we've ever crossed.
they know that we can fly
because they watched as our feathers filled in.
they held back our talons with their fleshy love
as we ripped at their pulp and they begged us to stay,
to eat. we told ourself
that we are strong for
slingshot words.there are a million worlds living in your headslingshot words.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
begging to be wrapped around your tongue and released like a slingshot
into the heart of some stranger you may never meet.
with thanks to salingerAudio version.with thanks to salinger3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's on those cold mornings
when you are nothing but indrawn breath
swirling and knitted up inside too-big
skin and weightless bones--
when the horizon arches up against
the half-thawed tendrils of sunrise
with golden teeth,
and smiling, begs--
it's on those cold mornings
when leaving is easiest.
the car will be cold, and you will
shiver, and the engine,
much too loud,
will smack of blasphemy
but you will find peace in the steady roll
of tarmac and the yellowing light
spilling across it,
with dust motes kicked up and carried
like fish in the undertow.
when you come to that first
crossroads, it will shock you:
the way the decision hangs there
trembling and desperate--
but there are no right answers and you will not
hesitate. and each successive choice
will be made of its own accord,
and you will roll the windows down,
and draw down the scent of ear
awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faithawake from my dream state.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame
WelcomeI'm ready for a romance to ravage my heart and tear apart myWelcome3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dusty limbs, I'm waiting for someone to take my breath and
never give it back; I'm prepared to sell all I was for a trip
somewhere new - beyond the paper mistakes I sailed away
down the river long ago. (even rocks and leaden thoughts
won't let the truth sink.)
I left my being somewhere under a waning summer sun
when the trees hummed melodies of moving on;
my soul still stays there, porous and pining and
lost. Dying stars don't lead home.
it's more than just losing
your words, it's losing
I am someone who mourns Sunday morning for another lost
week. I am weak, I am of mice and the men who cower
beneath compromisable truths. I have already
made more mistakes than loose fingers in
two days and a little breathing room.
I am not special. I am the worst
kind of normal, and further
more, I am sorry.
I am me.