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Being leftStay with me, let your hands fall.Being left in Free Verse More Like This
Your fingers so small, I'll never find them.
Outside, the world has too many fingers.
Let the orange in your hair be the sun.
The flies that circle us now are singing our song.
Like a light, we draw these flies and beetles.
Is it because we are vibrant?
Do they sense our vitality and want to thank us?
It is ironic to unfold all your dresses now.
We never looked at them until you started packing.
There is a blue, and an orange, with pips for buttons.
What if I remind you of the time when you spilled orange juice?
Only I noticed, but you thought everyone would, and you hid.
I still don't know if i
A Rallying NotionToday or never.A Rallying Notion in Free Verse More Like This
Lets roll up these sleeves.
Lets bring forth a cry.
Let us two make a pact.
Echoed in the bonds of each pair.
We will not give up. We will not surrender.
We have found the enemy, and he is us.
Lets raise up the tools of our labor,
And labor and callus our hands,
Soak blood through the field of our bed
Soak sweat through the front of our pillows
Lets rally ourselves till our heads swim
And our eyes blank, and blanking
Lets fall with each other.
BostonIn this broad city, I have landed like a flightless bird.Boston in Free Verse More Like This
The bright feeling of sunset here,
Leaves something to be desired in my ostrich body.
Even though the gulls and cormorants lap it up,
With the Charles already in their wet throats.
I feel, often, that I am also taking off,
Like my flighted cousins, I am stretching
And fishing and flapping towards my own future,
Which I’ve been told should be a dawn, but always, inevitably
Looks like a beautiful sunset.
In this heavy, joyful place, I find the same old pockets.
There is solitude, and the anxious killing of time.
In between work with sunny-faced infants
(who always pay m
Reviewer TwoHe rode to war with pen in hand,Reviewer Two in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And worthy paper foes he slew.
The ivory warlords could not stand;
In alma mater, foreign land,
And even in the journals grand,
The deepest minds he did subdue.
But one blow made it through his shield;
An enemy -- Reviewer Two.
This sagged beast refused to yield,
Indeed would never leave the field.
Retired, to his lair he wheeled
To cry, "Revise! More data, too".
The crotchety reviewer aimed,
And academic blood he drew.
That editors, so bowed and shamed,
Permit prestige concerns so lame,
Our hero quipped -- "The rig is gamed!
Lord, let me live through this review".
But Lord The Editor is fick
A poor attempt at BrodskyThings and people surround usA poor attempt at Brodsky in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The former more pleasant
The latter, no time like the present
To slither and wither each other
Win safety through sacrifice
Of teacher or lover or brother.
Things are kinder, more simple
They are neither evil nor good.
Making sawdust from knotted wood
They are fabric and rot
Which, when He calls the sky down,
Have the sense not to notice the presence of God.
Open me upI want you to peel me like a clementine.Open me up in Free Verse More Like This
When you find that the birds within my cage
Have all exploded or run away
They will not seem like seeds or flights of fancy
They will be the evidence you’ve always needed
To assure you that you’ve broken my bridges,
That you filled in the cracks in my pavement with discount cement.
I can’t tell you how many of those there were.
It’s for you to find out what birds leave, when they leave.
I imagine it’s nothing short of a feast with white icing.
I think you’ll like the treasures available when you sort through my rubble.
Don’t be afraid of spilling me.
If my
Love and RootsDeep roots run through all things.Love and Roots in Free Verse More Like This
And just as the tree knows,
And the fruit senses, explicit in youthful awe,
And the bird assumes through gnarled experience,
That earthly succor grounds their heady origins,
Though the edges of their lives might be aimed at the clouds.
So I know also,
That our roots run together,
You and I.
Love and MayonnaiseI'd rather fall in love with mayonnaise.Love and Mayonnaise in Free Verse More Like This
It is, after all,
As white and smooth
As any woman's thigh.
The pleasure on my tongue,
In my mouth,
In my nostrils,
Not unlike a woman's scent.
A difference, perhaps of kind,
But certainly not of degree.
And when it finally kills me,
With cholesterol grease.
With the soft shock of
an attack on my heart.
It will be no different
Than how
A woman would have done it.
Only,
Rather than slowly shrinking the arteries,
Women prefer to use knives.
Passing ThroughThrifty shadows surrender me,Passing Through in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Lovers surround me,
Dig holes in my body
With tickly pink armies.
Fingertipping their way to me,
Ghost-picking, play through me,
Rawhide and wishbone
And bloodthirsty artery.
Pressing each cell in me,
Shifting the heart of me,
Crashing through channels
Held loose by captivity.
Flowing an end to me,
Leaving to render me,
Screaming hot moments
Of sun-cracking novelty.
Fuck you, grapefruitFuck you, grapefruit. Fuck you right in your sickly dark-red ass.Fuck you, grapefruit in Editorial More Like This
Grapefruits are the Nigerian spam of the world of fruit. Yay, I just got $20,000,000 off this Nigerian prince on the internet. Wait, why is my bank account empty? Yay, oranges! Wait, grapefruit.
In every way that oranges are awesome, grapefruits are awful. Just look at them! Oranges are joyful, bright, full of life--they're orange! Grapefruits are the sickly pale hue of a nerd that sits in front of his PC 20 hours a day grinding quests in World of Warcraft. "That's not all I do," Grapefruits insist in their whiny high-pitched voices. "I have other interests! For instance, let
DiscoveryDISCOVERYDiscovery in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
Dramatis personae:
WIFE, a wife
HUSBAND, a husband
WOMAN, a woman
AUDIENCE (taped), you
SCENE
(A simple room with a front door. Separated from it by a wall with a door in it, a bathroom with a shower. There is a chair in the room. HUSBAND and WIFE are standing in the room.)
HUSBAND
(patting his large stomach contendly)
Those were mighty fine beans, wife. I think I will go and take a shower now.
WIFE
Then I will patiently await your return.
(They kiss)
AUDIENCE (taped)
Aww!
(HUSBAND goes to the bathroom and undresses in full view of AUDIENCE (taped). Cat calls from AUDIENCE (taped). WIFE sits down on the chair, facin
Arborical CarnivoreI,Arborical Carnivore in Free Verse More Like This
tree,
stand
and wait.
I take what I need from the earth.
The sun is my lover, she shines on my leaves.
I grow.
Slow
days
and years
disappear.
All is the same to me.
Then: you.
Your knife
writes
your name in my skin.
Your name,
and her name,
and finally: a heart.
All is the same to me.
She comes and you
Show her my heart
She traces my bark
I wait.
You kiss.
The wind is my lover—you sit in my shade.
He blows through my leaves—you mate.
My sappy heart oozes.
You sleep.
Your bodies are warm to my skin.
The sun is my lover, the wind is my lover,
she shines on my leaves, he blows through my leaves.
Days
come
and
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank in General Fiction More Like This
—The Importance Of Being Frank—
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then
One of my many superpowersSometimes I walk home with a painful bursting bladderOne of my many superpowers in Free Verse More Like This
past a dozen weeing men
just to feel superior.
My Father 1When he was 30My Father 1 in Free Verse More Like This
my father had built and torn down
and rebuilt again a shed
with his own hands;
had planned a future for himself and his wife
and the two children he knew he'd have.
My father had serious hobbies.
I remember the oscilloscopes and the smell
of ammonia.
He would come home from work and pore over
financial documents, figure out how to keep us
safe and secure and comfortable.
Because that is what grown-ups do.
And he'd worry and frown and talk seriously
to serious men.
It was clear to me then that there was a line
between child and man, and that I was
on this side and he on the other.
That was fine. The line would
Bluegrass and BirdsongBluegrass and BirdsongBluegrass and Birdsong in Free Verse More Like This
For Maria, who dared me
The city has sirens
and strangers who puke
Out in the country
The faces are friendly
That eye-bulge and heave
The city has sinners
You watch from a distance
Who are careless, unwholesome
Or misunderstood
And you want to run with them
And see where they take you
But it's late and there's work
And you better go home.
Out in the country
The night-air is colder
The silences longer
And nowhere is nearer
And upon returning you think to yourself
What a fool that I was to ever have left
The silence, the faces, the foresty places
And the memories of youthful thoughts
But the hours w
2nd person fiction and YouYou like fiction written in the second person. You may not admit it to yourself, but deep down, you really do. It teases you with its confrontational otherness, its flamboyantly displayed post-modernism, its teeth.2nd person fiction and You in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Do not look at its teeth. You do not want to look at its teeth.
Fiction written in the second person and you have a long history of denial. At first, you were sure it couldn't be done. Then it was done, and it was done to you, and you liked it, too, but it was only the one time and you were kind of drunk. It was an experiment, and it was interesting as an experiment, but that was all it was.
Only, of course, it wasn't.
Fiction
paper-thinThe following story is a work of fiction. All events and inhabitants are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, or supernatural, is entirely coincidental. Take my word for it: it's all made up. Never mind what the story says.paper-thin in General Fiction More Like This
ACT I; Scene 1
This is a true story. I have recorded everything as it happened and have neither added nor removed anything.
Curtains up!
We open upon an opened home: imagine an apartment building minus the façade, like a doll-house, its rooms exposed for the divine female from beyond to reach inside and pose its plastic inhabitants in humorous situations. We do not see the little girl pla
of storms and skysee my hair dance wild as wind-strings jerk it about//hear the ocean-wind heave itself against us all- crashing into our eyes and mouth//feel the winter-wind brush our skins in summer//then inhale the heaviness of air and sink through the dirt- because darling, you don’t deserve god’s beautiful violence.of storms and sky in Other More Like This
(it drags the tree by its leaves saying kiss your trunk, kiss it and it does; releasing with a snap. the other trees flitter-flutter violently, crying within the cacophony of rain on concrete. white stars fall where light exists, and only sound where it disappears. the sky -the colour of sunburnt skin- watches it all with hunger. a
leavemedon'tleaveme.you make me sick. you make my stomach fold in on itself and press out against the lining of my flesh. you put lumps in my throat and you tie strings to my tear glands and tug until the world is just a panoply of blurred lines, hazy colour and bokeh.leavemedon'tleaveme. in Biography & Memoir More Like This
you made me do this. you put the knife in my fingers and you told me to tear, you said you would care if i hurt myself like this. you said you’d care if i opened my flesh up for you like a gift of blood and flesh and tissue. but you never really did.
i like being small, i like being the blue eyed girl sitting amidst background noise, rubber band arms holding the necks of her legs together.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earthyou can't feel through fabric in Other More Like This
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
i’m not all there in the head
you’re not all there in the head, my mother says
i’m not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes i’m there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well that’s where love’s gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken w
pretty boys break hearts.sometimes I think I’m just a mess of badly drawn lines. I’m just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice.pretty boys break hearts. in Teen More Like This
my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I can’t see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.
‘why do you love me?’
‘you make me happy.’
I never could figure out just how. was it my illegible love notes, or the tiny hearts I drew into his bare back wi
colour blind.She saw him at the park once. He was the colour of dirt; with bird eyes and white, mapped palms. Her little forehead lined as she felt the bile force its way up until her saliva was acid. She counted her toes and bit the inside of her cheek, should she run? Are they fast runners? She figured this one must be if he kept himself out of jail. The dark man flashed a mouthful of pebbles and held out his hand- which would have swallowed hers.colour blind. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
'Don't touch me.'
Her hands were all knuckles and her baby eyes tore into his. He faltered and stepped away, a half mouthed sorry. He looked upset, a grin spread like fire between her dimples.
Suddenly she
my mouth is filling with sandmy brother used to tell me to hold my breath until i could hear the ocean in my head. and i did, it was a soft roar of sky fighting sea. eventually when my eyes rolled back like waves, he would make me breathe so i didn't drown.my mouth is filling with sand in Short Stories More Like This
he was always there to tell me to breathe out but now he is gone and i am forgetting how to.
we were very young when our father died (fell from a cliff photographing the moon) and our mother started dating the milkman. he was gangly man with white hair but otherwise very handsome. we didn't mind him at all. he made our mother smile and brought warm milk every night. but we missed our father and his stories about sta
asthmashe smokes marlboro cigarettes with the bedroom door locked. i taste it on her breath, lips and skin everyday after school. her bed is a mattress on the floor. sometimes we make love on it and i wonder if she'd rather have her mouth around a cigarette than me right then. she has asthma too.asthma in Short Stories More Like This
she is my second cousin. i didn't know this until two years after we began fucking and three years after i fell for her. i don't think it really matters. emily says if i ever made her pregnant she'd make me punch her in the stomach, heavy and hard. but i never would you know, i love her.
the smoking is killing her. i hid the cigarettes beneath the sink,
the lonely planet's guideIt was three AMthe lonely planet's guide in Free Verse More Like This
in Bastille.
It was three AM
in Bastille,
we were talking about
being happy
and I was too ashamed
to admit that I couldn't
remember how that felt,
staring stupidly at the
piss-stained bed and then
at the ceiling. There was a moth
the size of my heart and coloured
in like autumn and pain. That's me,
I thought,
and then threw my shoes at it.
The next day on the metro
somebody had scratched C'EST
A CHIER onto the window
and it was only then that
I felt the papery beating of
winged grief in my
stomach.
You might think that it's
pretentious to write about
Paris, but that's where I was.
So
nique ta m
My Heart Always Returns To MeMy sagging heart alwaysMy Heart Always Returns To Me in Free Verse More Like This
Returns to me; cringing
Like a wounded animal,
Tail between its legs, an
India-ink river of blood
Mapped across the kitchen floor.
I blindly follow these maps
Back to myself.
Like a wounded animal it lies
Whimpering and grotesque
On the tiles, flayed and shaking,
Reeking of iron and fur.
In my arms, my little animal
Slackens, shudders, is still for a while.
In it I can bury my breath, my face
As I wait for it to howl.
You Poor ThingI am sorry for your skeleton,You Poor Thing in Free Verse More Like This
the way you carry yourself when you walk into a room
like your arms are tied and your mouth is empty and you've been
kept prisoner for a year, waiting for a bird to arrive
at your window. Your eyes are full and I spread my hands and say this;
sorry, like a man abandoning his lover in a cloud of dust. I am sorry for
your eyes, resentful like a North American river.
Sorry, for everything, for your breasts and womanhood.
You are standing on the edge of eighteen
relunctant and awkward; you do not want
to spread your legs wide and let the world drop its' pants
to fuck you. You are standing on the edge of so
it is not enoughit is not enough just toit is not enough in Free Verse More Like This
miss you. i have to learn
how to walk again; how to
live without meat and
kissing, how to sleep
shaped like a balled up
fist. it is not enough
just to miss you. i have
to adopt twins in
Africa, name them Lost
and Weird, forget to
feed them. i have to
go to every pet store
in America and rescue
all the seahorses. i have
to tattoo D A R K B I R D
inside my lip and stand
in children's playgrounds
like a broken arm, creaking. it
is not enough just to miss
you. it has to hurt. i
have to write poems
that last forever, interpret
dreams about buildings
burning down, flies who
leave their partners fo
d.i.di.d.i.d in Free Verse More Like This
the first time i saw her
alone in the cafeteria
mourning herself
scrap of cling film
wrapped tightly around her finger
she said
i had a friend
but she died
and now i am not the same
she is the one i love
touching the edges
of a kitten sticker
on her french notes like it was her dead
grandmother in an open casket
blanched white fingertips
saying
no i am not the same
ii.
she hurts the world and
rapes the earth and
the rabbits scream and
the trees scream and
the air screams and
she sits at the hearth with fur in her hands
i go into work with bruises on my breasts
iii.
we do not kiss
or touch
or make love
because
From Whence She CameBack down to the sea-floor she goesFrom Whence She Came in Free Verse More Like This
back to the coracle-clusters and starfish that
clamour, cling to her heart too tight,
walking barefoot towards where she
came from. It is too hard walking on
earth, the way she wears pain like a wedding ring
frightens people.
Back down, down, crawling on her belly
on the forest-floor, alive with the buzz and crawl
of worms and bird-prey. Back where she belongs with her
crazy palpitating wolf-heart, her bloody
deer-throat leaking in the snow, her yellow
eyes in the dark.
Back down, beyond subway trains, piano lessons,
falling rain, from whence she came, to the snow-covered womb
where she fir
PurgatoryYou didn't disappear when you diedPurgatory in Free Verse More Like This
You'd been missing for weeks.
Something inside you slipped away while we weren't looking.
It was behind your eyes
It stirred the air when you laughed;
Somewhere it stopped.
One week made you old.
While you cried for your clarity
I was waiting for it to come back -
When the house was ripped open by your final order
The stillness was not a shock.
Nervous laughter followed for days
Punctuated by formal tears.
You had gone - but not far:
A phone could reach you
Or a car.
We had already mourned you
While daring to believe we would
Never have to miss you.
The laughter had stopped
But you were b
PaperTentativelyPaper in Free Verse More Like This
You unwrapped me
Laid out on your childlike pride.
You went not a button further than was
Permitted. And verified.
"Can I?" your amen.
We were not exposed - or revealed.
It was nothing more than an arrival.
Right, beautiful. I choked
On tears.
Later as I lay there
The home you declared
Became movingly real.
I lay unwrapped.
I wish you'd kept the paper.
Turning AwayA picture rests where you used to sit.Turning Away in Free Verse More Like This
You smile out but you're turning away -
A crowd of flowers reach towards you,
In all directions: searching.
Your glasses lay untouched
The rest of the cabinet is bare now.
The mirror that saw your cocoon
Will be permanently empty.
Pictures and your name
Lay littered in piles.
You are revered but hidden.
The routine remains unchanged
But you are not observing.
The house is raw for the lack of you.
weetabix every morning quaking frozen limbs, and you begin to wake up.weetabix every morning in Free Verse More Like This
this is something you’re able to do, able to wake up, just.
i bet it’s hard to leave, those seamless sportscar-sexy dreams,
peru i love youchicken, itza, place in my dreamsperu i love you in Free Verse More Like This
like nothing that you've never seen
silent peach sun breathes so smooth
burning on my back and giving skin groove
who are you with on the road with une ane
who are you with at the end of night's day
i wish to sell mah treasure in the marketplace
where sceptics cannot reach me and graze mah face
a woolwoven rug, a mandolin and a pear
simple things for you, simple presents to share
say hello say goodbye in the blink of an eye
and keep blinking keep seeing and stop doting on why
gizzards jump up and jump down as your sneaks pound the town
bedsheets are crumpled like insects as concern lights a frown
wishing on nothingnothing elsewishing on nothing in Free Verse More Like This
as delicate as fluff
with chews of earlobes
and grey clouding the road
nothing else
as subtle as smoke rings
with strums of banjoes
and loud letters oh no
there simply was
nothing else
and midst all your papers
trickily tangled up by origami folding fingers
a light shone, orange
and zesty
and it called for you hungrily with a heart-hooking lingering look
that you felt sheepish to resist
where is that grass, and where is that stream
and where is the oasis of nothingness
and why can't we enjoy it now
oh shut your mou
napkin tangentslike a number scribbled cross the valleys of a napkinnapkin tangents in Free Verse More Like This
you scrunch everything up
drop it atop a wavering pile of waste
and try to forget it
but everytime you see a smile, hear laughing, smell gardens sweating with perfume
you are reminded
and curse your butterfingers for not holding on to "happiness"
but you're only being stupid
one click to snap you out of it
life is what you make of it
and in your mind you can make anything you want
make castles make beaches make swings or make seas,
make teacups make music make love make cherries
in my mind, i'm not telling what you'll find
your guess is probably as good as mine
fligh
Thanksgiving...Thanksgiving... in Open More Like This
I'm thankful for
A great many things
The tears I've shed
The smiles I've shared
The pain I've endured
The joy I've felt
I'm grateful for
The gifts I've received
The water I drink
The food I eat
The ground I walk on
The air I breathe
I'm appreciative of
The people I've touched
The strangers I've met
The friends I've made
The babies I've held
The family I have
Each breath gives me hope
Each sunrise makes me grin
Each day I wake up
And Cherish this blessed bounty
Knowing each day is a bonus
And every moment is special
Copyright 2007
First StepFirst Step in Spoken Word More Like This
Standing on a ledge where tears were shed
I'm borderline and falling fast
There are great things ahead
But I'm trapped by the past
I step off the ledge and begin to fall
Speeding towards the nearing ground
Suddenly my wings snap open to a call
Catching the wind without a sound
Soaring to new heights
Breaking the bonds of "then"
Finding happiness in my sights
Not having to ask "when"
I've found my shining star
My beacon in the night
Guiding me to points so far
Leading me with her guiding light
Cutting me free from the ropes
Causing all pain to cease
Lifting my hopes
Giving me true peace
Taking the first step
Knowing so
Wings SpreadWings Spread in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
When an angel spreads her wings
She shines light upon your heart
When an angel sings
You hope she’ll never depart
Soft, smooth skin
Entrancing elegance
To be so close is a sin
To think you deserve is arrogance
She casts away the dark
Quieting your screams
Silently leaving her mark
Easing the fire of your dreams
As she reaches for the sun
She lifts the weight from your shoulders
Allows your fears to come undone
Keeping your heart from growing colder
Giving you strength unseen
Opening doors you may have missed
Providing a perch on which to lean
Stealing your ability to resist
Falling to her spell
Completely letting g
pool.we will swimpool. in Free Verse More Like This
and shivering
laugh at the sky
its stars twinkling
merry eyes of twilight
the moon, grinning
lunar and cheshire
let us swim
through each tide
along each wave
summer still
and the hot breath
of night whispers
down the backs
of our necks
the sigh of the trees
as we dip beneath the surface
and find ourselves
in a world
undefined
calma.sunlightcalma. in Free Verse More Like This
shed your rays upon my flesh
and brilliant moon
please dazzle me
the stars i want not
for their dancing
pains my wearied eyes
instead
i adore
the flickering leaves
of whispering trees
the quivering waves
of shyest water
and to brush cheeks
with a flippant breeze
i sing of nature,
and sing of sin
let us relapse
and forget this spirit
goodnight.
arrrling.i'm writing songs about youarrrling. in Free Verse More Like This
trying to keep my mind off you
two o'clock's getting closer
and the only place i can run
is the last place i want to be
we could be cradled,
comfortable, loved
if our arms and wristwatches
stretched that far
but the installation has you
and the concrete rooms encase me
for hours, and hours
'til next we meet
the music dies without you.
EmissariesI've lostEmissaries in Free Verse More Like This
the plot.
As pieces
of story
emerge,
my place
wherein
seems
too elusive
to discern.
Once
my sight
filled
to overflowing
with visions
of wonders
ahead,
glories
eager
to be
encountered.
Now horizons
portend
Oblivion, glaring
dismissal of
faith,
harsh acknowledgment
empowering every
anxiety.
I long to
hear anew
hints, whispers,
murmurs of
music sailing
along night
winds, emissaries
of far-off
provinces
where meaning
yet dwells,
where hope
ever lingers.
Sta.sh
