Blank StairsBlank Stairs in Free Verse More Like This
Three flights down is her car.
Sedan. Four door. Twenty-one thousand miles.
She was an artist once.
The smartest dunce.
Finger paintings mostly. Never sold a finger print.
Now she works five days for fity weeks. Filing. Typing.
Her sentence is run-on.
Never noticing the tessellating artistry of her cubicle horizon.
Her T's are crossed, eyes are glazed over.
Her tears are seeded
Where the sonnets will grow.
But they hold tight to old sights.
Pupils too contricted from the monitor glow.
Three flights up is the roof.
Sky. Four clouds. Twenty one mile view.
In every direction.
addictionaddiction in General More Like This
have you ever been an addict. and im not talking
about the hey-i-like-to-do-this-alot type of addict.
im talking about the
type of addict. im an addict. ive never blown anyone
to get it. i dont think i would. but i havent been
given the opportunity to either. the reason i say 'i
dont think i would' is because i like to pretend that
i still have something thats mine. dignity, pride,
standards. but i know i would easily toss those away
just to get it. i know because i have. so all i
really have is it. for one hour. for two hours. for
fifteen minutes or however long it last. however long
i can afford it to last. ill be high for fifteen
minutes if thats all i can get.
im an addict. i dont get high just to get high. i
get high just to get my mind off getting high for a
few hours. after a fix im good for eight hours.
maybe. then the last of my previous highs memory
cells dry up and i want. need. how ca
In dependant womanIn dependant woman in Free Verse More Like This
In dependant women i find the brink of lost hope
A tilted ice skating rink
With a layer of soft soap.
A broken vase. Poker face. No joker, ace.
The hand shes dealt is knuckles
and a battery of bible belt buckles
She wears the make up so he wont lose face.
Fat slouch, soiled briefs, mouthful of tooth paste.
He's a relic from a past era.
She will never run faster than her mascara.
Scared...waiting for the second R to come
Scarred...no healing, beckon martyrdom.
Far from numb...but palsy ingrained
A flesh of mesh...and everything taken in vein.
Maiden turned maid
Laden with Jade
A once bright son, faded to shade.
Lost first, past second, now life is third nature.
Memory's mummery and mammary's milk
Now nothing but a trifle herd of stray blurs...
Eyes of overdue cataracts
Still life lies in matters of fact.
Her excuses are frail.
Each night she reads her bruises like Braille.