yesterday i met spidermanYesterday I met Spiderman
in second period no less
chewing cherry bubble gum
which he proceeds to stick it on his desk
I think I also saw Batman
perhaps the day before
dark alley; black hoodie;
weed strewn up on the floor
I see the Flash,
everyday on the track
in those commercial breaks
sports drink in hand, his agent patting his back
Iron Man rescues stockbrokers a lot
to him its no bother
If Superman drunk a little less
he might realize he had a daughter
Green Lantern's dishin' out diamonds
Wolverine's butcherin' them fruits
Mr. Fantastic's lies are elastic
Wonder Woman's acting is ecstatic
And never forget Dick Grayson's
Yesterday I met Spiderman
who I sit behind,
but yesterday I met
who showed that little girl where her mother was
with the map you picked off the bottom of that desk
and shined it off with your shirt, and in the mirror, she smiled
And I think that's the most super power of all.
fishermanI am a fisherman-fisherman2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all roaring waves
and rush of sea salt
beating seagull wings
and a tongue carved from
My hands break levees
and my breath births dams
the taste of chilly morns
still melt on the roof of my
mouth like I never wished
for anything besides the smack
of sodden rubber boots and
the scars from entangled
hunks of ivory nets
the sea has not
forgotten my voice-
I can hear them
when the wooden floorboards
crackle like hurricane bruises
from water laden saunters
through land sunk libraries
it has been a forever
since I held a dream
caught between my fingertips
and the gentle rock of a
boat and foamy froth on
but this new trip I have embarked upon
carries more clanking hooks
than screeching sinkers
yet- my line has not changed-
I am a fisherman and the sea
forget who its children are.
oh my archimedesthere is a mediterranean maelstromoh my archimedes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
inside of me, and frankly these demented bones,
are inventing a thousand ways to drown
my soul inward,
the curves of my cartilage are overripe vineyards
for myriads of apprehensions blossoming
age, insipid sand charting the honeysuckling
progression of snapping parabolas
the tempests swat opposing ranks
& I am afraid that I have begun to lose myself
between the roaring of my ears,
torrent in a can,
a soulless man -
and what is a man without a soul
[ I'm lighter than that]
these mythical caverns of what once was my days
are condensing into dripping pages,
I want the books to etch my ru
....until proven guilty?Accused he stood.....until proven guilty?3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Innocent he died.
LiliyaBright-eyed,Liliya2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
mistress of light.
color coded01. ice bluecolor coded2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Icicles cling to the shingles in the summer suburbia;
whistle wind chimes tuned to the beating of frost sparkles
of burning cold and stinging eyes
snowflakes contorted from extinguished hearths and skewed cigarettes;
so sorry; I ate their tears with my eardrums
it's the frostbite
I murdered one right after the other
One cried nightfall
The other screamed sunset
03. deep violet
Illuminated sparklers signal to painted cousins
the looking glass blinked though, and they ran away in disheartened.
I wonder if the lemons are just as sour in Constantinople or as bitter in
Fireflies never stay long in Detroit.
04. solid green
A twist and a turn
the broken pinball machine has seen enough
eyelashes to wish cardboard forests from smoke clouds
but I never ceased to abhor; the burlesque puppet dances
russian roulette and laughs
nine of fifty four
05. murky grey
The December dusk is not lampshade
for the jack-o-lantern beneath my door
new turns old on
your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--your teeth leave different scars2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the amnesiac is
61.8% water &
on watching the night
close its eyes on you,
I only know beauty;
maybe Anne Sexton was onto something
& for the woman shamed,
arise and breathe. Seabones
with taciturn eyes
after we lost him:
mermaid thirst for
Your virginity is like an envelope,
a lover's observations on
post-it notes, cupping rice
always, and always.
owlsof the mist whispers andowls2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
soggy willow branches
above the werewolves and
jasmine flower blossoms-
niched to brown liquid
flowing in veins and
the half-smile of the moon;
dragonfly eyed and hickory
wings sailing the milky
way until the sun crack
lulls reality into
Something Borrowedgirls in white dressesSomething Borrowed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't always want weddings.
the priests would speak of leaps of faith
and my hands would clasp the wood in horror,
knuckles bleached like bone- and i found
something old: the knot tied in my throat.
my vocal cords did not let empty words escape.
and there was something blue: the heart
that hesitated. how can a seedling prophesy
its harvest? how can a caterpillar promise
the power of its wings?
so let others gather flowers.
we will skip the mass
but not the bed: and through
this something borrowed,
earn a little time-
and a place to rest our heads.
the first day of springyou are new in the way flowers are new:the first day of spring2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
brilliant green, soft purple,
the good smell of rain and soil.
let the miserable winter wind
chase its own tail for a while;
there’s something beautifulwonderfulmine
at the end of a sunlit driveway.
terabyte ruinswe've clicked the help buttonterabyte ruins2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the tool bar.
we're the first to admit we're confused.
this morning the council met with a proposal
to replace god.
there have been complaints.
"dear eternity, i'm disillusioned
your god is a single snapshot of deep space
and a soundtrack of silence.
i tried pressing reset.
my old model featured google images,
a personal blog, and a comment section.
yesterday's god had to be recharged.
it was a rough way to be hardwired,
but there was a five-year money-back guarantee
and excuse me, but i'm dissatisfied.
i'm not so sure about redemption,
and i saw it on the news yesterday:
they recalled the golden rule.
it had a bug called desire."
give us a refund,
and we'll continue shopping.
our browsing has offered up
some promising candidates:
and technological giants.
we're not sure yet, god,
but we're pretty sure you're out.
it doesn't come highly recommended,
but we're considering a newer model:
idolatry. instant gratification.
midnight ambiguitythe merlins singmidnight ambiguity2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a certain magic woven
when twelve in the morning
strikes its beholders
when gravity gapes
at the audacity of celestial objects
determining the ambiance
of silvery fish
will be of tinkly bells
in misty evening haze
when the roars of days
the sun kisses the horizon
like a lion song wading
neck deep in lucid water ponds
bask in the crooked shadows of
phoenixes rising from winter ash
when slivers of moon fall
like apple peels to the
hymn of pheasant wings
and with gentle hands
pluck star from nest
spilling pixie dust like
the universe's creatures bide
in auspice harmony
for night's hushed beck
and the cradle of secrets
kept in the crooks of her neck
k.n., ii7 9 13 he took a bow overlooking interstate 680:k.n., ii2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
car-comets in full spin,
his dreams planetary, saturnian -
he almost sprouted wings that night and
i cannot say it would not be beautiful;
the palpations of downtown pumping
luminous cells, coursing
through highway veins
and he, standing in the heart of his world
mind ecstatic -
his feet began
to lift just a little.
9 20 13
a few phone calls
and a pair of
.i would shed my skin.2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
with autumn, but my veins would
crack like the dry leaves
The Problem With Elia.she could have been a violin;The Problem With Elia.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
born a week too late, she had
melancholy in her bones: doctor lizbet
took time out of her schedule to pluck her
newborn strings - calloused sanitation against
mottled pink-and-yellow flesh & thrashing limbs.
in three more years, she will have
nothing in her bones at all: doctor estair
diagnosed her with iatrophobia to fuel her
instinctive chords - ripple-free shells of liquid
lobotomy & a capsule to callous her pink-and-yellow
flesh against the thought of just getting over it all.
ten years after that, her mother will
find her face down and thrashing: her dust
bunny bones will flex as she retches up her memories
for display - lawyers will spend the next few years pawing
through them with clawed hands and heaving breathing until
one day, they find lizbet and estair huddled amid the rubble of her bones.
salti of you,salt2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun.
your arms, copper lips, citrus,
a lovin' with a twist.
my summer away at space pirate camp,
i took to howling with you the first thunder of june;
the hunt for human brains,
Maybe Zombies Just Want To Hug?
- 6 lies to tell yourself if shipwrecked.
i can't explain the feelings i get.
blue dream before i sleep:
the soul cupping rice (glass figurines, lamp light eyes).
my fear is milk two sugars.
drink drink drink
beneath it all,
floral growth, silver spoons,
losing my spine, strange preoccupations with skin,
Soldiercigarette between his lips,Soldier2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tar-induced lungs struggling to inflate –
struggling to make sense
of a war
where men are only equal
when they're dead.
the beauty's in the leavingRead aloud here.the beauty's in the leaving2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sweetheart, let's head out. let's
drink up the desert asphalt and that last bottle
of johnny walker blue--
one last toast to the copper sunsets,
to the good earth. a pair of
tailgate stargazers, you and i:
roaming curves across the glove compartment map, until
every foldline is worn flannel-soft
and it'd rather stay open
let's forget route sixty-six. let's forget
and pick up terra cotta dust--
breathe in the mojave. let's pretend
that the world's already ended
and it's just us.
let's leave the door unlocked
pollenwasp-waisted beautypollen2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
TemponautSundays: no one's butterflies areTemponaut2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
going to affect the wavelength
of the sun magnifying ants
(nothing will happen anyway).
Rewind, the air wrinkles into
sundays: no one's butterflies are
stuck on weeping quicklime (not yet)
that doesn't hesitate; floor it.
High-pitched tires are slashed by the
hissing water, parked sometime on
sundays: no one's butterflies are
run over by broken sunshine.
One last time to make this right, keep
blinking back - stop flapping its wings
'fore they reek like pelting rain from
sundays: no one's butterflies are...
the arrangement of astral cordsThis is how I'm built up, you see;the arrangement of astral cords2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stars trapped in the linings of my
the regurgitation of meteors
the chambers of a heart--
deconstructs of kaleidoscope-stained
This is the reason why my throat
bubbles like witch's brew--
the insides of my body form monsoons that
scratch my lungs and
disintegrate my windpipe,
an off-pitched dissonance
like wind chimes
whenever I try to shout or speak or
(and they tell me that you could sing
the moon to sleep when you cast
your faithful nothings on a star)
[and, no, I'm not some kind of genie
trapped in an expanse of dust
rather than a lamp]
Darling, I was never caught between
a collision of star-crossed galaxies,
nor an accident between the big bang
and a black hole.
I was born a star-child.
and, no, they could never be beautiful.
Yet, I could never be as graceful.
I could never carve my face the way
gods do, and
Otherwise Good ConditionI have worn the same dressOtherwise Good Condition2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for four days, because
I am sick, exquisitely
black and gold, your drunk
dimestore Nefertiti. A
white stain announces
itself, a muddy star:
here. Undo yourself,
those sallow words you drink,
let the silk fall loose. I've got
a face like dirty laundry
and burial grounds --
What I touch becomes
unwell. I wear my hair
like it pains me,
like a little girl
sucking her teeth
at cars, the caked little
tombs of sugar that crumble,
under the hot milk
of the sun.
Sonnet to Breathabout the rib. it makes sense. at Out-Sonnet to Breath2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
back my father picks it up, gets it stuck in
his teeth, and like a brutish harpist plucks it out,
lets it settle. smoking preference? menthol. in-
door seat? the closest waterfall. they knife out
flower from vegetable. “the game” drags students in
collectively, like how a yawn moves-- uncoils out--
humanity starts rippling. how much of school was in
a herd like this? how much was ringworm? out
here is lonelier; my romance is silent. in
time I think of him and am bothered by it. out
the window steeps a sunrise. it’s five in
the morning. can he sleep? my laptop’s out
and holy Book! he’s up, but then— that rib again.
the night in Sagadalily-white fingersthe night in Sagada2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sound of
hair and sinew
cracking then breaking.
ripped then burned
of raven wings
the soul of
like the waves beneath