MeWe are all monstersMe in Free Verse More Like This
worming through the
We are all ingrates
stealing what we get
our hands on.
We can't exist
because you don't exist.
DuetWe cut corners until all we had were bits and pieces of our lives, scattered across stained glass. Childhoods reared by adults who didn't really give a fuck. Pushed into those industrial box schools that taught us we will never be stronger than what we were afraid of. So we fucked and smoked and drank and pretended we were monsters whose shadows consumed everything else in this goddamn world. Right now we are headed down to Mike's apartment. He has some salvia and weed that he says makes the world cave in. Mike is a dickDuet in Free Verse More Like This
The beginning of winter. When I exhale my breath stains the cold air fog-white. Her fingers scratch the inside of my palm. She whispers something in my ear and laughs. I want to go south but my wings got clipped. I will just lay down and die.
RippleIf these walls could talk they would call me names. Names like pervert, queer, idiot. Tear down these walls. Rip the plaster end from end. They would scream in pain. I would love every minute of it.Ripple in Free Verse More Like This
The water ripples from the impact
Of a stone cast blind
We all fall up
We all jump down
A paradox that burns churches
and drowns the dogmatic
"You don't hate anyone,
you just don't like them"
I hate you
Said in a mirror
at 2 AM
until you pass out
you are coughing up blood
DamnationAll of this looks too familiarDamnation in Free Verse More Like This
The red cups are being passed
Drink until your body rejects it
Strange bodies with strange movements
Ponytails whip like ferns in the wind
Golden and thin
She whispers something I can't hear
Constantine, the French Revolution, World War II
has all led up to this moment in time
Wu Tang rap
filling a suburban house to the brim
The Molly started kicking in when we went into a walk in closet. Dress pants and shirts were pushed aside as we kissed with our offset lips. Arms rubbing. Feet tapping. The back of her head felt like the ground of a grain field. Screams and moans bled through the thin plaster walls, reminding us that we weren't alone. We set our red cups down and did what our parents told us to wait to do.
Soft carpet rubbing skin
I'm laying in the front yard. The grass stands erect between my fingers. The sun cuts the top of my head. My head. My head. Hell i
GibberishThe whites of my eyes are glazed ivory and I want to get high. God made everything from nothing. There is no God. Tear the core from the mantle and look at the seas of magma that shift hot in the earth. Hot like the July sun. Shifting like a woman's eyes. Metaphor. My mother was a fish. Simile. Allegory. I can't read because of fucking English class. Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. Analyze the hell out of them until there is nothing real left. Metaphysical mind fuck.Gibberish in Free Verse More Like This
The parking meter shows I owe
Hands deep in pockets
Lucifer is a fallen
Like all my
To DeathDirt painted concrete stretched for miles across the country. The wind blows every which way, with the strength of a champion. The tips of my fingers are turning black from all those cigarettes. A pack a day until I die. I am running. My legs try to keep up with my hurdling body. Down hill. Take flight. The irony of it all is killing me. Coughing. Frail lungs that can't handle the rush of brisk air. Our hair smells like weed as we sleep still in the dead of night. My legs can't keep up. I am running.To Death in Free Verse More Like This
Resurrection By Six CylindersShe had the hair of Jesus. Not black Jesus, the white one. The one that makes us feel safe because we are white too. We are all white. Jesus was a savior, Jeeves was a butler. Fuck girls that make me feel like shit. The ones that don't like Faulkner or Joyce. Yeah. They can go to hell. Native Americans were here first before we exterminated them.Resurrection By Six Cylinders in Free Verse More Like This
When the words fall vertical like that you just want to shoot whoever wrote this. I wrote this. Her lips covered crooked teeth that made me fall in love with her. She had chicken legs that lead lines of seduction. Alcohol is opening the floodgates in my mind. Memories rushing so fast I am drowning. Coyotes grin with curled lips
Girls with defined hips
My body hurts
Jesus can't save me
No one can save me from myself
End of a RulerBend backwards as theEnd of a Ruler in Free Verse More Like This
bullets blast fast.
It isn't a fucking earthquake,
it is more bombast.
Time slides slow,
tenses in the past,
six feet in the grass,
we're gonna die fast.
Mist-marred marsh filled
with moist murky moss.
Mister Mervin swerving,
cracked like Rick Ross.
houses for dolls,
gum bleed floss,
the sideways cross.
Fingernails peel from
the roots of the cuticle.
The multicolored scales
may be more suitable
for me because I'm
liable to litotes.
Somewhere along the line
I forgot how to live.
PotSlick shit soothes,Pot in Free Verse More Like This
soft shin smooth,
you have those knobby knees
that knock awkward.
Your curly hair falls,
your bare back against the wall,
we try to kiss
but we can't stop laughing.
Those Little Mermaid sheets
tucked in the corners, neat,
fly off the bed fast.
You hit your head on the bedpost.
16 and wild-eyed,
living fast to die,
who would know things
change so fast?
It has been two years since I have seen you. Two years since we kissed, with pot smoke seeping out the side of our mouths. You called me a week ago saying that we should "chill" sometime and that you had missed me. I know you didn't, you were just looking for an excuse to be apart of something that was once beautiful. So we hung out and for a second it was just like old times. Smoke filled my car and we laughed at all the shit playing on the radio. But then that moment was gone, the photo still ripped savage by the calloused hands of time. I guess until we meet again, I will read my Camus and you will listen to your Su
Haikus WithinThe world is held inHaikus Within in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the hands of a man who can't
decide who to trust.
Run away from all
the problems in your life and
reach out to your God.
A quick shot in the
throat. Blood spilling down my chest,
a smile on my face.
Moving is the thing
that keeps us alive. Once we
stop moving, we die.
I will fucking run
till my legs give out or my
love says she hates me.
Regret of RedemptionSo angelic praying to yourRegret of Redemption in Free Verse More Like This
God. Enjoying the
Euphoric sighs of guilt free
Sin burning as you drink
Your water ,so blessed, to
Feel it singeing the back of your throat.
You painted a heavenly escape with
Shredded paper from a worn out book.
Rewritten; with a different fairy tale in mind.
Ode To MonotonesHe had a colorful past mostly full of red.Ode To Monotones in Free Verse More Like This
One day he said to me that I painted my past grey,
Bleeding the vibrancy of any color into transparency,
Leaving myself in a monotone world.
I tried to tell him that they were colorful
Shades of grey, each different in their own way.
He snorted instead claiming it was all in my head,
Giving me a chance to feel red once again
Fair EnoughWhen glass breaks it doesn't shatter into diamonds.Fair Enough in Free Verse More Like This
It bursts into a million pieces of a mirror seeing different scenes.
Each reflecting back their shattered caricature of the point of view they see.
Laughing to the point of contagious cracks;
they can't help but invite themselves in.
Besides who's going to deny them from entering.
Its spreads in ripples
Then works its way across the surface.
Bringing waves of dramatic change that's only visible for a few moments.
(Most miss it.)
So many scenes to play, they could live lifetimes in seconds
(each crying for someone to keep up.)
But no one can.
Sexual SheepSexual sheep herding themselvesSexual Sheep in Free Verse More Like This
Into personal gates of pleasure.
Slaves to the euphoric
Bites from rabid
Spreading the madness into their
Translucent brains. A lovely
Game they got use to
Playing. Loser takes
A sick demented show set up for
Deformed lust. What a sick
Fuck. Creating warped
Pictures of love
For us to gaze
With sheltered eyes.
Such translucent brains.
Heaven's Freezer To Hell's BarWhite feathers gently glideHeaven's Freezer To Hell's Bar in Free Verse More Like This
Down like snow
Dancing in the wind hoping
To bump into
Their intricate partner to
Stick together as
They fall towards the
Little red tips sinister stains on
These laces of white shredded
From an angelic ice tray.
Hitting the earth
didn't hurt as much as it
Should. But they don't
In a sweet embrace
That is used to fuel the drinks in hell.
Demons feast on their polluted taste of heaven.
Fading Flowers, Wax FingersStitching together broken wordsFading Flowers, Wax Fingers in Free Verse More Like This
To create a shaky shelter
Of strung up hope.
Tied up and upside down.
You can't preserve them like
All the dried roses you
Kept dead. Memories.
Crumbling like your fading
Fingers made of wax melted
Them together to forge
Your favorite memory.
I ask myself.
Did it ever happen?
Calloused WordsI tried not to stare into her eyes. I would get lost in her apathetic gaze and forget to feel. Silent like fog it hung in the air too think to see through.Calloused Words in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
She was stuck inside a haze again, chaotically trying to rearrange her brain.
I couldn't really see her through the mist that exerted from her pores.
Instinctively my hand reached out to her, but I pulled away. From what I saw, it almost seemed to be sacrilegious to touch her.
With skin like flowing cream, the lightest touch would send it crawling in spiderwebs of ripples.
(And I'm not known for having soft hands but I wanted to get caught like a fly in the strands of silk.)
She wrapped herself in silence to keep the tumultuous turmoil that pillaged her brain to herself. She was afraid the slightest sound would shatter that shaky level of concentration she needs to organize her disobedient mind.
I couldn't help but wonder if words would be able to slip through the chapped grooves of her velvet lips and how her voice would match her
Music To Her EarsIn a soundless world a girl listens for a sound that she has never heard. But she knows its out there. She roams the land searching for the pieces of a puzzle to create the melody that she's convinced exists. She'll keep wandering.Music To Her Ears in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
A song skinned apart by razorblades of white noise was once a beautiful when it was whole. Since it can no longer sing a lovely tune it falls in fragments into a def land.
The girl who has never heard a sound found them. She weaved them together in a caricature of the melody it once was. But she doesn't mind
(its all she has ever known of the song.)
But when she puts it to her ear it's the most beautiful sound she's ever heard.
The Book of LustHe lived in a world where you grew up fast or died young. He wasn't meant to live in this world, where ideas of beauty were cruel caricatures twisted and deformed by violent lust. The type of sex where the men pounded their anger away in some reckless whore bent over , face down in the pillow. A place where women tried to prove their worth by diving from bed to bed only to degrade themselves more in the process. In this world words of beauty were hollow echoes of ricochets and empty gun shells hitting the ground.The Book of Lust in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
He fell in love with the first girl he slept with, he fell in love with the way she navigated his body as if she'd explored it hundreds of times before. She knew ever spot to touch to make him twist and jerk in undeniable pleasure. He told her she was beautiful and said he loved every flaw she listed about herself. The next time he saw her was at a party where he walked into the room to find her on all fours with a guy in the front and another in the back. He then understood h
Ice Has Less TractionDo you think the pieces of our shattered pasts would fit together to map out the intricate pattern that twists and turns into the path we followed to get here.Ice Has Less Traction in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Watching the blue leak from your crystallized eyes, I wasn't surprised to see them a paler shade of grey.
But in my mind I'll remember them as a vibrant blue.
I know you wanted me to the one to saw everything will be alright.
But I've never been the type to say that it will all be okay. All I've ever had were demons to hold my hand.
And their grip was icy; they still numb me to this day.
I know it hard to see the world through shattered eyes, and I would really love to see the blue stop leaking from them.
I would let my demons hold you and console you.
But I don't want my devils to mold you and control you.
And I'd rather not see you turn out like me.
Why would angels want to taint their wings in people's acidic immoralities, anyway?
But demons are already stained, what's more acid to them.?
Please stop looking at me because I k
forest firesmy signature scrawled across allforest fires in Free Verse More Like This
of your sentences like a stain of apologies:
i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hip
like a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.
i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,
for whispering you into every crack in these walls.
i do not have the depth to tether our limbs
with the tautness of our smiles, but i will
balance you on the edges of my knees until
you slip away.
i have been kneeling with my arms outstretched
but the divinity of your touch
never graced my expectant stance.
our bones built forest fires together,
but it was always my tears putting them out.
rosemaryin my empty nakedness and filth, i fall into a rhythmical prayer &rosemary in Free Verse More Like This
remember the mayan chants my third-grade music teacher taught.
my incense burns for the souls of the dead and mourns for the forgotten.
my pillow case smells like the arts & crafts teacher from summer camp,
there is a bottle of bug spray that ruined my navy v-neck and the stain
is still there. the bob marley poster smells a teensy bit like pot, he looks
so happy. my guitar is a piece of shit i never learned to play because i
couldn't read tabs. the hollowed-out bedroom walls hold fervent memories
of hot chocolate and running away, my glow-in-the-dark candle weeps
childhood. my jokes are all just metaphors, my rhymes are the punch-lines.
i've been waiting in line holding the bottle of punch mommy asked me to
buy 6 years ago; i don't have money to pay for it.
swimming in spacelet's ask the stars to build us a castleswimming in space in Free Verse More Like This
so we can rest our shoulders like royalty -
put the weight of all these words
for a few millennia
and just breathe.
our lungs could use a few hits of truth
to open themselves up to the calming hymns of the heavens;
breaking ourselves apart shouldn't be too difficult.
(our wrists mean war - forests of insecurities & impatience)
wait a few more months
for distance to build itself a bridge between our arms,
saturn is stretching its rings across your chest,
deeming you responsible for all the black holes
and stray planets enveloped in the universe.
i went swimming in your blood stream,
no diver came in after me.
i dreamt that i was drowning in your veins,
the chill of september's rains still haunts my bones
from time to time.
colors without names flash before my eyes
making themselves a mantra of sins under my skin.
we lifted our heads in unison and crafted a tragedy
from all these mistakes.
the riverbed & jesu
hitmy cheeks are still red and swollen from yourhit in Free Verse More Like This
mid-life crisis last night. you took your anger
out on me like you do most days and i've been
trying to figure out why. sometimes i think it's
my obligation; i'm first born, only girl, maybe
it's because you don't like the way i write poetry.
but now i realize it's because you're a sick fuck.
you call me. over & over, until my ears block out the
noise of your voice because i've heard that story before.
every time something like this happens, i tell myself that
next time i'm going to hit you back. hit you with hands and
words and i'm going to beat you like you beat me. but next
times turn into next-next times and those turn into the time
after that, and pretty soon, you & i don't even talk.
last night i hit you back. it wasn't really a hit, though, more
of a shove. more of a i can't take this anymore, more of a stand
up for yourself; the fuck you i've been dying to say. it was only
shadesthe reprimanding tone of my last lover's skinshades in Free Verse More Like This
startles me from discontenting slumbers.
the scent of him:
suffocated the butterflies fluttering in my throat
and i couldn't speak anymore.
i couldn't tell him that each brick buried in
the mortar bellows with him, how the cracks
in the walls heard all his secrets.
his eyes were colorless
for the approximate 5 months
that we consumed each other.
his bones, bent into permanent grimaces.
his tongue, twisting lies into our fabric.
his words were soft, but those eyes stung like spineless jellyfish.
he was gutless, hiding in piles of dirty laundry - struggling to cleanse
his pallet so i wouldn't taste her fumes through him.
her arms folded around his neck and
inklings of me were thankful that
because of her, he couldn't choke
the goodness out of me
for the time being.
when skin met skin, i sighed
out my convictions
like smoke curling around our fingertips.
his hands made loops
that he dared me to jump through,
a-positivemy father once told me that you can’t marry someone with your same blood type.a-positive in Free Verse More Like This
chances are your children would emerge with a myriad of deformities;
your DNA strands wouldn't coincide the way your souls would.
this hit me with the realization that maybe, in a time before this one,
someone foresaw the way we would look at each other and decided
we were a secret better kept hidden.
this morning was the first in a long time that i woke up feeling beautiful
without a boy convincing me so the night before. is this what freedom feels like?
heart spilling out of my chest and alveoli snapping into place.
this is untouched skin:
smooth and lightened, lotioned with a sense of confidence.
war-torn with wanton and longing for limbs no longer here.
is there a name for that two-in-the-morning feeling?
the way guts wrench themselves open and botanical gardens scream.
is this what capillaries do when no one is looking?
cry or maybe wonder if they will ever see light again.
there just might be an
the battered boyyou see a battered boy walking home from God-knows-the battered boy in Free Verse More Like This
where; it is precisely 11:42pm. you know that because
you left the house at 9:36pm and your strong, old-man
body has that uncanny ability to tell time with or
without a watch. that battered boy reminds you of the
time you spent fighting in THE war. you went to one of
the war protests because your then-girlfriend-soon-to-be-
wife-now-you're-a-widower made you and she said it was
the right thing to do, to support your country. you
remember feeling uneasy the whole time and you heard
voices and at first you thought you were crazy, but it
was really just mr. president talking about how creating
piles and piles and piles of dead bodies with america's
signature shitted all over them would make our forefathers proud.
the only image that stuck with you from that day was a
glimpse of a woman, black curly hair & green eyes, holding
a sign that read 'bombing for peace is like fucking for
virginity' and you remember thinking that was a good sayin
killer clownJohn Wayne Gacy, Jr. was a mankiller clown in Free Verse More Like This
who didn't know what to do with his hands.
in 1978, his blood rivered over the streets of Chicago
and the floorboards silencing the stripped bodies of
26 teenage boys were overturned like a grave robbery.
there once was a time when i didn’t need whispers or phone lines,
when i fell asleep curled around bed sheets, a proclamation of autonomy.
he was a troubled man plagued with the ache
a father leaves by sticking around.
his mother laundered his pillow cases,
not once questioning tear stains or scar tissue.
i fold laundry quicker than usual, now.
i keep my head up as i walk, make pointed eye contact,
and smile at strangers on the train. it’s all a distraction;
even the bones in my neck miss you when you’re gone.
John Wayne had a knack for reinvention.
in 4th grade, he sewed canvas rice bags into a cape,
thinking flight was an immediate form of escape.
when he molested a boy named Donald,
he thought he was reciprocating sexual advances.
losses and gainsthey say there are two kinds of peoplelosses and gains in Free Verse More Like This
in the world; good & bad.
the kind that just go to church because
their mommas make them, and the kind that
actually feel a twist in their hearts, a
pain their chests when they think of Him.
the kind of people that, when asked would
you like something to eat, always answer
no despite their sunken stomachs and the
kind that say oh sure, don't mind if i do.
the people who smile at the poor & homeless
and sometimes hand them 34-cents, and the
people who smirk and don't even feel bad.
two kinds, always two kinds;
good & bad
bad & good
the kind of people that say that
the two kinds are black & white,
and the people who say fuck you
to them, we're all still human;
it's our humanity we've lost.
there are the people who give a fuck and
try to be the difference, and then there
are the people who are counting down the
days until their caterpillar-bodies turn
the losses outweigh the gains, dear child,
the losses outweigh the gains.
bone-deepyour scapula, more commonly known as thebone-deep in Free Verse More Like This
shoulder blade, carries the weight of my
words better than my grandfather carried
his welding tools in 1971
up & down the stairs
day after day
up & down.
your rib cage holds the puff of gusto that allows
you to whisper those tender words in my ear.
the sheets cover me all the way to my neck
because there was a slight breeze last night.
[you & i both have happy
jobs and can't afford new windows]
your radius is the first thing i think of when
life's tides are too high. i grip your arm & feel
blessed that i have you and you have me, because
things wouldn't be the same otherwise.
your bones are sharp enough to leave scars like
the ones both of our wrists own, but thoughts
like that are hushed when love burns to the core.
Hummingbirdsi took the whole whiskey bottleHummingbirds in Free Verse More Like This
and some dark-colored wine
then changed clothes &
put up the christmas lights
though it was almost spring.
i switched off the other lights
and looked at the color
between one room and the next
in those lights.
i put some food into the microwave
as if nothing were happening.
i waited the way a piano waits
for its own hammers to fall.
i emptied that bottle,
then, in the midst of a few thousand hummingbirds
i walked through the doorway
onto the linoleum.
something should happen now,
because it's this deep into the night,
when things are at their most silent,
indicating only themselves.
in this i want no longer to depart.
it's not about dying.
it's about easing in and out
on my own terms.
i play some music.
the microwave beeps to me
in a harsh, bright way.
the food must be ready.
i must be ready.
we all toy with mortality.
tonight i listen to piano music
and take my food
from one room
into the next
as the hummingbirds
Reprimand, fatigue, lossTwilight came on slowly before dawn,Reprimand, fatigue, loss in Free Verse More Like This
everything tinted blue by the early light.
I wept at some reprimand, fatigue,
We were in the back of a companion's car,
and I tried secretly to weep
but you noticed. While I turned toward the window
to hide my face,
you reached around my back
and gently put your hand over my mouth,
cupping empty space
for me to weep into.
It was all I needed--
a motionless bit of emptiness
while everything else
like thisthe emptier the room became,like this in Free Verse More Like This
the less i remembered.
now the room is stripped,
just walls and a chair on carpet that you would look at
it's only because i am about to leave this place for good
that i can sit so quietly.
there is something soothing about the possibility
of flowers bunched in a green bottle,
waiting for you in the next place.
whitish mottles on the inside of the glass
where water has dried.
like voices you heard once, but now only half-remember.
a version of something totally lost.
this is how the world is formed, i think.
i stretch my arms out
and look at the the bare walls.
how is it everything disappears?
the flowers are saying.
wokei wokewoke in Free Verse More Like This
and ate fruit.
went down to the river,
watched things brighten.
spent the day.
and woke and
complications"you can'tcomplications in Free Verse More Like This
look at things
yellow-redmy bones ache. i think about soft petalsyellow-red in Free Verse More Like This
that are yellow-red, how the ache
my gut is the orange end of a cigarette.
your going away, like your coming,
is the stain of lipstick
on the other end.
the drenchesenter where the fete gets held.the drenches in Free Verse More Like This
here where the bells keel.
we feel we jet here. legs, necks.
the neglected well deepens.
we were perplexed.
she peered, then her legs petered.
she reeled. flew.
we slept there,
dew keeps the ferns jeweled.
the sheen trembled. trees swept feelers.
we rested, then went.
fences kept stretches enmeshed.
where we were led exceeded ken.
grebes heckled the reeds.
we met there, where she nerved the drenched merges.
the swells mended, then wept.
we went between them. she threw pebbles, peeled them level.
knee-deep, then chest-deep, then held there.
she tells me, "mermen delete themselves when we meet them.
the femmes keep themselves elsewhere."
she threw me shells.
herself flecked here, there.
fresh smells emerged.
we wended, reversed.
lent perfected terms.
yet we never left.
The way the land is shaped1.The way the land is shaped in Free Verse More Like This
Photons, angels, names of counties
covered in snow.
Full of blue and purple stems,
there is pale water not yet frozen over;
filling it, the smells of cold
and an expired rain.
The earth grows gently.
The snow calms its patterns.
The way the land is shaped,
I want to live.
My body lies outside me,
as stiff as a bundle of sticks,
tied together with a belt and carried
over the back of who I ought to be,
toward where I ought to go.
Sometimes I peer out between openings,
jostled by the debris underfoot,
the ever uneven ground.
To stand in open spaces
that fill up with longing is to live--
every acre of the world
holds the whole ultimatum.
The air fills with shapes,
blips of air swirling in poured water.
Snow begins falling on the mountaintops,
the towns below diminishing to their shapes on maps,
In the abandoned fields and lots,
empty stems and rocks stick out of the ground
the bones of a person's face.
You have never opened curtains, never poured m
LightningboltsYou ease forward, prop your elbows on your knees.Lightningbolts in Free Verse More Like This
The veins in your hands fascinate me,
like those aerial pictures I remember from school
of rivers worming through lush green areas of places I'd never been,
would never be. The curve of your back gave off heat,
the imaginary line where you ended and the room began
was too real, too sharp to be seen,
just felt. The look on your face seemed burnt
into the wood panel walls behind you.
You rose, pulling at your tie with one hand,
unbuckling your belt with the other, as ambidextrous
as a chef, as unsteady as water
spilled over dry ground. You tugged the belt out of its loops
and as your slacks sagged slightly around your waist,
you took both ends of the leather band in your fist
and swung it at my temple.
A blankness flashed up from somewhere
that I suddenly realized was always below me.
And in that vertigo
I came back to myself on the floor,
suddenly fascinated by the lightning-bolts forming
in the way the creases of your shirt
coveringthe piano cover went sailing across the roomcovering in Free Verse More Like This
drifting across the room
at the white & black
until color arrives
it's endless night
as the piano cover comes to rest
on the floor
one light-year away
i wail away
the neighbors have moved out
there is no one
so i play.
The Loss of Feeling in My FingersAnd so I satThe Loss of Feeling in My Fingers in Free Verse More Like This
Wishing for Oblivion
And only the frigid wind answers back
"Go to sleep."
Curbside LighthouseOne orange street lightCurbside Lighthouse in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Set against stars' beauty, dark's grasp
Protecting night owls
Grab and GoThere is a single pack of cigarettes kept fresh,Grab and Go in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
in the freezer.
Next to the rum they are used for.
We keep the important stuff in the cabinet closest to the patio door.
Ready at a moments notice.
Life is good,
I should say no more.
GraspingOne more touch,Grasping in Free Verse More Like This
And we could have laughed at the world
One more tap,
And he would have had to turn around
One last caress,
And no one would have mocked us for our tears.
Cutie PieAll the cute and clever miscuesCutie Pie in Free Verse More Like This
Though misguided and misogynistic,
May well be your proof of success.
Growing Up Too Fast.Honesty is the enemy of innocence.Growing Up Too Fast. in Editorial More Like This
AsocialBlinded by neutralityAsocial in Free Verse More Like This
Sickened by reality
I'm finding that absolutely
Solitude suits me
God AlmaybeI'm creating my own supreme beingGod Almaybe in Free Verse More Like This
He's six-five, and he likes to gamble
Don't ask Einstein
My old system required solitude
And short prayers
Directed nowhere in particular
Is this what God is?
Something we mold,
Something that fits our eccentricities,
My higher power must be real.
I've suffered no terrible consequences
After all the horrible things I've done.
My higher power must be betting on me.
The New Year Shows OffJackets and mitts meltThe New Year Shows Off in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Green emerges from cold grip
Spring shows us new life
forever present tenseall i am is a series of moments,forever present tense in Free Verse More Like This
all i believe is i'm alive and all i believe is:
i'm alive and all i believe is i'm
all i believe is
every breath a star
certain soundscertain sounds you are used to hearing over and over again:certain sounds in Free Verse More Like This
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
whoosh and creak of screen door closing
ancestral Russian-Hasidic inflections in the way you pronounce your H's
rustle of curtains and bedsheets
tap tap of your own feet
how can I help you
how're you doing
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
snap of shampoo lid
roiling boiling water
some small sinanthonius, catholicsome small sin in Free Verse More Like This
sweet pale hands and a dark brown robe
they told you it was wrong,
why didn't they understand?
not sure what to make of your long ring finger
over-extensionhere i am cultivating my little garden of loneliesover-extension in Free Verse More Like This
a sponge, a chair, a shoulder
here i am with a wad of cotton batting, filling up my cadre of empties
line you all up on the shelf in the back of my head
pull you off and hey, lovely, how are you today?
how was the test the date the hospital the visit to the morgue
did you panic did you leave him did you hurt yourself
are you all right?
here i am lab doctor of chemistry far away, drugging up my
the desk chairlittle backwardsthe desk chair in Free Verse More Like This
you fell into me, lord,
you fell onto me and my long-fingered last-ditch chance at succession
the matte plastic face i'd been keeping for just this moment held,
held less a few cracks around the edges and eyebrows
a carelessly dropped spoon
identityi am not special;identity in Free Verse More Like This
i do not look pensive in photographs,
not even candids
i study serial killers sitting in sticky pine trees and i write stupid stories
and i dwell overly long on how i appear to other people.
i am no one in particular,
and i like it that way.
a certain comfortthere is a certain comfort in having a name for your pain.a certain comfort in Free Verse More Like This
these things do not have to be cold and empty,
devoid of meaning
diagnosis can be
and yeahwe broke ourselves on the edge of dawn,and yeah in Free Verse More Like This
bottles and bottles and a small smoking pile of cigarette ash
you said sleep is for the weak
you said a lot of things are for the weak.
the girl in the boy's underwear told you were being selfish
and she told you to get a grip
maybe it was a bit mean,
but i think she had a point
you shouldn't worryI am a Turing machine, it seemsyou shouldn't worry in Free Verse More Like This
"You say you feel--"
"It looks to me--"
commit, commit, commit,
the urge to down antihistamines
awake at a late midnight,
you kiss yourself in the dark
and there's a ticking in the back of your throat, dripping to the punched-out stomach
a still-forming fibrin mesh
love like raisinslittle bitchlove like raisins in Free Verse More Like This
itch itch itch
are beautiful like the sun
and all the ugly cliches
you are beautiful like girls in songs by the Cars
all i want is to peel your skin off like sheer pantyhose
all i want is to get at the clementine-sticky ants underneath
you are a bad scab.
Shall WeAll that matters now (you said)Shall We in Free Verse More Like This
is that one moment in the park, when we were
our origami mountain to the top
of the world; clawing
at the outside concrete layer;
flaying fragile flesh into filets of filigree
and speaking as though strangers were lingering
(waiting) lurking in the shadows
for us to falter, and turn back to the ecstasy built up
in our capillaries.
But all that matters now (I said)
is the hot rush of blood across femoral
as you straddle my ribcage and claim that God is a fish,
God is a rabbit, God is the variable x
in all those equations and condemnations
I never quite understood.
All that ever matters
is what we say to each other in the moment of Truth;
when Saint Nicholas coughs up phlegm
and tobacco juice
and spits it down
our chimneys; when Napoleon buries his tears
in Josephine's skirts
and screams the sneers off his advisors' faces.
All that ever matters is the sporadic thrusting,
the heaving and sweating and self-conscious groans
of a lover's firs
That Rat Bastard Reginald SmittyReginald Smitty is the craftiest son-of-a-bitch I've ever known,That Rat Bastard Reginald Smitty in Comedy More Like This
that's for damn sure.
You see, I was supposed to go to the neighborhood Valentine's Dance
with Sadie Anderson, that ample broad from down the street,
but that rat bastard Reginald,
he snatched her right out from under me, pulled the rug out,
he did! And so I says to the guy, I says,
"Look here, guy, that's my lady you're taking to the Dance,"
(all polite-like, 'cause I'm just that kind of person, see)
and he turns to me and laughs! He laughs in my face!
I swear, some people have no class,
absolutely no sense of honor, and if Reginald Smitty
had been taking Sadie Anderson to the dance first, well, by god,
I woulda left her alone.
Reginald Smitty has a fountain in his front yard.
Now, how he managed to get a fountain in his front yard overnight,
I'll never know,
but boy, was Sadie Anderson impressed;
you'd think he built the statue of David out of toothpicks
and melted ice-cream for all she swooned!
It isn't even a
Ignite'Cause it's like adolescent assonance,Ignite in Free Verse More Like This
and who fuck are we?
We thought we knew, but goddamn were we wrong,
we never even knew
that the square root of gettin' gone is going back,
we'll never go back.
This pride burns us up like liquid fire,
(what a fucking SIMILE, amirite?)
and we're just here to dance.
We're just here to dance, and nothing, not
can keep us
from those lighters with the painted flames,
and cheap cigarettes
(the kind that'll kill us, Momma, the kind that'll die).
If there is hope it lies in the parolees, isn't that
what ol' Orson said?
Momma told me I'd never get no where,
well look at me now, Ma,
all dressed up with no place to party and
I left my keys again.
Come on Momma, don't be that way, don't leave me
out here to die.
I may be a fucking waste of space, Momma,
But I just wanna LIVE.
If there's one thing Daddy taught me it's that dyin' is free,
but livin'll cost me my life
and I don't do nothin' for free.
I got the sickn
GaramondI gain only the smallest bit of satisfaction from telling myself that no one ever really knows who they are.Garamond in Philosophical More Like This
Who am I? Well, it really depends on the day, and on any given day, my disposition towards whomever happens to cross my path, and often on the weather on said given day, and how I slept the night before, and my state of mind as I was falling asleep. This is assuming that I sleep at all, of course. Bouts of insomnia bring out an entirely different personality, and as such I must again reassess my disposition towards whomever crosses my path, and the weather, and sometimes, if I'm feeling especially disconnected, my brain itself. Anyone who has ever had trouble sleeping is likely familiar with the dull ache that accompanies those late-night fury runs, which is not at all the same as a regular headache, but much more akin to being swatted incessantly about the head and neck with a paddle covered in cotton balls. It is the sort of pain that no amount of acetaminophen can cure, and m
SemanticsEight minutesSemantics in Free Verse More Like This
in this bathroom stall,
than what the toilet gods
could give you,
biting your lips chewing
into snowflake patterns
and you are not
than your mistakes you are
you are dead.
to drown yourself,
but the others,
shut up about Sunday Night
football they won't
let you rest
let you be
what you only (n)ever wanted.
They say, you don't
you don't know how hard
we have tried.
But I do know. I do,
I will not
if it's the last thing I
Toilet water calls:
blue, so crystal, so clear.
to drown yourself but
they're set up
in the stall next door,
cheering, cursing, living
to be left
to your dying thoughts,
and be reborn, recast and
the toilet gods say,
We can make you
in this bathroom stall
is plenty of time
A PhantomThere is a house of cardsA Phantom in Free Verse More Like This
cut into thirds,
then halved, and shoved into
an unsuspecting keyhole.
all shamrock eyes and Nevada nights,
cannot be expected
how to seep
through the cracks in the doorframe
and reach the other side
I wanted so to help him.
She speaks often of angels,
but I know that she's never even
Her mannerisms are far too cliché,
and she still seems to think
that God is synonymous
Oh, I tried to make her listen.
A phantom draws nearer
as it becomes clear that the eyes,
are not shamrocks, but emeralds,
much to brilliant for
a nursing home jewelry box.
Nevada is golden this time of year,
and a phantom can only take
so much yellow.
But yellow is beautiful, I told him,
I begged him.
She doesn't even notice the smoke,
that settles on her flesh
A phantom is a master of
changing his shape,
but she's too busy searching for angels
ShatterEmily saysShatter in Free Verse More Like This
that the blackbird is Death,
and everyone nods vigorously,
hmm, hmm, oh yes,
Some girls rave about the symbolism,
and how blackbirds always gave them
that the blackbird is Wallace Stevens
just look at it, it must be true.
No one thinks much of that idea,
and we hear nothing else
for the rest of the class.
One bird, two bird,
The pattern is immaculate,
a gallon of undiluted bleach
with battery acid,
eating through the cardboard covering
of the starving poet's most treasured
Mr. Stiegel says
that he still doesn't know
what the blackbird is,
like we should be surprised.
I think that the blackbird is
full of shit,
but that's hardly proper for English class.
Those Good Christian GirlsOh, God, please have mercy on this sinful nation.Those Good Christian Girls in Emotional More Like This
The hairdresser tilts her head and purses her penciled-on lips, shears in hand. The client is going on about something or another; stocks, or children, or the relationship between black people and organized crime. Inconsequential babble. The hairdresser nods furiously and clucks her tongue and gestures wildly, just as she does for all the privileged women and prissy men who make their way into her salon. They come from gilded houses with crystal staircases, looking in part for a haircut, but also for solace and sympathy to which they know they have no right.
Their voices are hushed and often masked by the whir of Vidal Sassoon, but snippets of conversation can be heard across the floor.
"-went to the store for bread and came back with-"
"A husband, at her age? What is she-"
LineageThere was a cave,Lineage in Free Verse More Like This
and it was
I remember it well:
the siren screams
of falling beams,
on a chalkboard; metal
enough to draw blood
through the bullet-proof
of nylon armor.
And the gatekeeper said
as he knitted
a grandmother's cap,
that he never really
to be a gatekeeper,
or any sort of keeper,
but that's just how
his life turned out
came to shove,
and he was buried here
against his will.
I was once
but my memory got the best
and now I am a fish,
and a will to breathe
on my own,
but who will dare
to tell me so?
I asked the keeper many things,
of original sin
the resting place of dying
but all he could tell me
Girl, don't you go
asking questions like that,
to get slapped in the face
and he was right.
People and fish
just don't see eye
not even when the sun
shines on both sides
of the coin
and not even
when the tramp-town ladies
Suicide PactLet us go then, you and I,Suicide Pact in Free Verse More Like This
while there is still time for coffee
while there is still enough intrigue to let
ourselves become less than dust,
and fall into obscurity.
There will always be time for the unimportant,
and we are masters of that domain.
But being as we are,
browbeaten and unable to proclaim anything
than Fuck this life Fuck this time Fuck
this beauty we refuse to see,
even that talent fades
into the strawberry jam abyss; the contraceptive
that we try so hard to ignore.
We dance on the graves
of our more adept ancestors
as noble skeletons rise from the ashes; assemble
as IKEA bed frames
and applaud our youthful nerve.
Just two punk kids,
filled to the brim with cheap Irish vodka
and thrice-drowned sawdust
We won't be missed,
we won't be missed at all.
So let us go then, you and I,
and bid the bones a good farewell. Seeds
of the Earth,
they replace themselves every once in a while,
and we won't be missed at a
reminiscence of sweetI am trying my hardestreminiscence of sweet in Emotional More Like This
to forget all the things you tattooed
on my skin with lingering thoughts of you
I wish I could take it off
like you do a sweater once
summer has come,
but everything you left
infectiousi find myselfinfectious in Free Verse More Like This
reusing the words
my father once
gave to me:
i am a useless bastard, you
deserve so much more.
verbatim, i sing
along the string
of my vertebra--
the vortex that
scatters you to
i was not born
a beast, but born
i am not your lover,
i am your cancer:
with me you
will be carrion cast
onto the lawn
unbosomingi'munbosoming in Free Verse More Like This
a pale creation bent
on my own self destruction;
in the right mind, but
then again i
evolution of endearmentwhat is with theseevolution of endearment in Free Verse More Like This
needles poking out of
my fingers, waiting to spoil every
touch of affection,
of red dripping
down your thighs
spreading like a hot rash
before my feet,
were never really made for love
weeping limbsi wish i could show you how aggravated with my hands i amweeping limbs in Free Verse More Like This
i'd rip open my ribcage just to show you how i beat
so fucking incorrectly,
i wish god would have put my parts together
maybe if he did
this wouldn't be a
KATRINALIVES A MILEKATRINA in Free Verse More Like This
from the sea.
she is sallow as a beach.
she smells like rain,
or a wet earth,
with pale hair clipped
behind her head
she feels as though her hair
would be black. but it is
it is colorless
GIVES MY STOMACH
she doesn't speak.
she is silence.
i speak at her, mostly
and her eyes
look as though
they've been plucked
from a lynx
they are blue around the edges
the deep blue you find
at the edge of the sea,
if you've been out that far.
at the center they are green
light like a riptide.
they tug you in.
unmoving, and calculating
i said to some
gave me head.
her hands are too far dug
into the coast of spain
for her to reach me,
far too eager
for my composure.
she'd suck me dry
like her mothers did
the caspian sea,
like the fields of sahara
once lush with green.
she is a barefoot girl.
she moans like the shorefront
in the dead of night.
i've made love to
i'm all out of needlesi've always hadi'm all out of needles in Free Verse More Like This
the sickness to drown
my holocaust bones
in thick wool. even
as summer dawns, making
my skin a mine for real
gold, i am still
head deep under the
adding a layer of dust
so that the world
may get the wrong image of
for the garden, to buryifor the garden, to bury in Letters More Like This
wish you could know all the things you did to me
how you left me, how you
fucking left me
i am not a flower that can have the sun taken from
and be able to grow
i wilt in the summer
and not even in the winter, not
even in the spring
raw collection of poemsand i am missing youraw collection of poems in Free Verse More Like This
and i am fucking
when you climb into bed, think of me. the
rosary that downs the bottom of your
drawer is a silly reminder of what i had
taken from you
ice cold and his
i was warm
i look at myself and i see lines
impending on themselves
bending from the weight of my soul.
i am heavy
i am middle-afternoon
and i can't uncurl myself
from the telephone or the
idea of you
we work like polar
but i swear to god i was meant to
meld with you;
you go north
and i south,
thwarting what we built
between force fields
i look at my self and i see lines,
cracks in the mirror
all down my thighs where you
broke me in two
i will come back together
(only to be
split back a
part by you)
come home, come
i need early morning
i need lack of sleep
and i need the cold
to my soul
just to stop
the world siphoning the
air from me
i am not doing
something should be saidof all the things that are infinitesomething should be said in Free Verse More Like This
human birth and death,
her eyes are wide but
they are pools
trajected from a hole in his brain
knees make grave in the ground to
but you are only sucumbing to god
and praying that he hears
In the Shallows. I bent over to touch my toesIn the Shallows. in Free Verse More Like This
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of do
Convince YourselfIt is the breaking of bonds:Convince Yourself in Free Verse More Like This
two bodies peaking at the chest,
not so much sharing
as simply in the same space;
wayward arms grappling, legs flailing.
It is a pulsation of--
a remembrance and want of--
pulling apart so hard
and ricocheting backwards.
[If it were underwater, it would be a dance.
It would make the fireflies cry
that they could not be there;
could only see it (blearily) through apposition eyes,
everything convex, glittering like cobwebs:
diffracted rainbows obscuring the (re)solution.]
It is all engraved in a shudder:
a shiver, a tiny tremor
deep in the braided chords
of her espalda;
quavering like the bowels
of the farthest caverns,
stalactites vibrating with timbre.
As she buckles forward,
those rubies bulge down her seam,
those Rosetta stones divulging secrets
in long dead languages [languages never invented]
Bel HeviWhen they mapped depression’s manifestation,Bel Hevi in Free Verse More Like This
they showed my body turning blue
as if it had filled with the water
of every downward-floating mermaid
with her heart and her gills on her arm.
They told me
depression is a tandem bicycle.
That it stretches, elongates, reaches,
spreads to both ends of the spectrum
from a thrumming red to cobalt black,
from a violent joy, like a catalyst in a combustion chamber,
to a deadness, a negative entity in non-existence.
My fingers may radiate words
but my heart is a vault full of
It is a simmering and freezing, incapacitating, sorrow
they measure with their electrical wires,
and is that supposed to placate
my fear of drowning,
is that supposed to unbend me from fetality?
I fold fender for fender beneath
my mother’s sheets
as my body turns to blue
and bitter, black frost-bite,
and is the idea of agony as tandem
supposed to restore my faith
in modicums of
in parcels of good days
when I did n
Body-SnatchedBody-bound,Body-Snatched in Free Verse More Like This
Whatever you want to call it,
I cannot disperse my lips;
cannot close my eyes to find those glimmers
they say are just on the brink of something else.
I want to capture them there
- between the freckle on my eyelid
and the swirl of my iris -
but they float, less than tangible, from me.
I cannot shift or resume
cannot lift my shoulders
or expose my legs to the same oxygen
the trees once breathed
because there are valleys full of rivers full of fish
full of pebbles in my way,
flooding the ruckus of my bare body
between left and right
and my knees when I step away.
I feel the need to run until the soles of my feet are sore
and my throat is freezer-burned;
to cast tomorrow behind me
in search of something I once knew how to do,
but I don't know where to run
And I can't find the stairs.
morning-fingersI dream that I am wading through a field of violent colors and I could continue on forever, walking, trailing my fingers through the grasses, drinking in the coolness of the earth.morning-fingers in Free Verse More Like This
I am chasing a whistling tree that weeps on the horizon-line, lonely, ephemeral and, in some ways, recurrent as a dream in which I am body-bound - caked in the colors of skins and leaves and scars.
Only to relapse, once more, into cascades -cool, morning-finger drizzles- of soloria.
In the bruising-blue sky, three moons simultaneously rise to glimpse the planet, whirling,
and the air is just calm enough to be called a breeze.
5874265Winter has taken hold of my heart.5874265 in Free Verse More Like This
In the dark of night she slunk in, leaving frosty-footprints on the glass,
and sang me to sleep with lips as soundless as an owl's wing-feather,
dusting my eyes with powder to help them seal shut.
With snowy fingers she incised my breastbone
and plucked my ribs like the petals of the last flower:
one for me, one for her, one for me they cascade to the floor, white and crumbling.
She raised herself up, back arching, and drove her feelers
- silvery tentacles, glistening like dew -
through my system, latching herself onto me,
drilling nails into the soft-spots on my bones.
She hooked my veins together like a bundle of cords and seeped down into them like battery-acid:
eating away at my nerves until only the tips of my fingers
remembered how to feel.
She stroked my heart, cooing softly,
thumb and forefinger reaching down with elegance and demonic-grace
to take that tiny thrumming machine into her hand,
A Myna Bird MelancholyIt seems my body is reminiscentA Myna Bird Melancholy in Free Verse More Like This
in ways I am not.
The moral high-ground of truth
or of destitution or of somber readiness
- of it, I am forgetful. And to be forgetful
is to have known the sleek,
shallow depth of dreams,
and to just as swiftly die,
as a myna bird melancholy
with its heart strung on a wire.
For to wake from dreams is
to strip the gizzards from one's own body
and to, thereby, insinuate the self
blind into the bowels of atrophy.
I am awake when one shouldn't be,
aghast and ralphing; retching my soul
out through my eardrums and eyes and orifices,
Because, honestly, what is there to live for?
I lose myself in the succorless centers of mine eyes;
the rapidity of a 2 am shower that pours over
the aching rheumatism of my bones,
streaming into the corroded exterior of my agony,
blood sucking at the drain.
Hours pass, but time seems to simply saunter by
unchanged, as my body clings to things
it craves to remember:
truth, destitution, memory itself
- any remnant of humanity.
CodaSpattered in moonlight, I can taste sunbeams on my tongue: warm, thick, creamy like caramel in coffee.Coda in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Beneath me, the seasons are changing. That little fragile thing within is stirring; she is yawning, stretching, raising herself up like a tattered marionette, all her joints popping and vertebrae realigning. As she dawns, the dust billows and flames reignite; her strings are growing back together, spidering upward with thin, famished fingers. When she dances, the world rewinds to those beautiful moments.
The ghost of a palm burns through to the small of my back, nerve-endings clambering: dripping across my spine like the cold touch of water and ice. His lips graze that hollow place below my ear, sending a shock wave through my system, filling me up with secrets and sparks, gorging me with promises.
I breathe in his vindictive charm, all those capital letters spoken with question marks, the lies twisting to truths. Dreaming nightmares as sweet as sugar-cane, I take his abuse like a sho
for fear the end is coming soon.My body does not want to wake upfor fear the end is coming soon. in Free Verse More Like This
to this morning. To a day that
contracts rather than expands,
gradual as a wine bottle.
I want to spill forth,
my bundled limbs unbound,
mouth open: hungry for cherished ones,
yearning for words.
My body longs to feel changed by a single hour,
to be engulfed by the penumbral sky
shimmering through the trellis of clouds.
But it is simply casting lines.
My feet do not want to feel the floor beneath them,
to push up against my spine
and endure the lathering of new skins
as roads on my bones.
To feel the years
dropping like pennies into my stomach.
skin colored bonessometimes i sit down and she is there sitting next to me and i can't remember how. and sometimes i don't notice until it's too late because she hides behind those little gaps in my words (the ones where i question what i have to say).skin colored bones in Emotional More Like This
everything about her is small. even the long, fat, brown hairs that dangle from her head are small. everything so small and tiny, with a pointy face like rubber. and she's always doing somethingi guess she has a hard time just being around.
when she's near me, i have to try not to think about it. the touch of skin against muscle against bone (and after that i'm not so sure). everything reaching out widespread thin fingers and becoming close and cold and leaving trails of space where it was just a second before. the feeling of ribs pressing up against my skin, of fingernails bitten down to nothingness and feet in direct contact with ground. one thing touches another touches another, and it feels so grimy.
i can't see much of anything when i lo
in passinghe's walking in circles with his teeth clamped down on his fist. insomnia hit hard this month. it's almost three-thirty-four in the morningalmostand the wood floors of the attic are wet and moldy. a few hundred years old, probably, and they creak around even when he isn't stepping on them.in passing in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so there he is (he's right there) walking in circles and staring out the windows into the city. nothing better to do. the windows are all open: it looks like a harvest moon outside it's probably just air pollution.
the door opens, and this one strange looking girl walks in with two cigarettes dangling from between her teeth. saunters up to him real slow and shaky, like her legs got drunk with the rest of her. she's got lotto tickets. nine of them. i can feel it, she says, it be comin' up real soon. we gon' get lucky, boy, we gon' get lucky.
she rubs her hands together, smacks her lips. she's wearing his favorite shirt again, and a pair of bright ora
knowing things(feelings are so, so complicated. they sit inside you and curl around you and mutate into something so powerful that they can move your body and manipulate your mind.knowing things in Philosophical More Like This
sometimes feelings can make you happy, but sometimes they can make you sad, too.
but if there's one thing about feelings that you can count on, it's that most of the time nobody can really ever tell why they are what they are. there's nothing that exists in our heads concrete enough to be sure of. but there are those times when i get a hunch that i know the reason.
it could be about a lot of things. sometimes i think it's about pets. i mean, most of the time it's not, but sometimes, sometimes i lie in bed with my cat cradled in my arms and think to myself that my one true wish is to have her outlive me. or sometimes i feel sad because everything in the world is so young. we're born knowing everything and by the time we die we know nothing. the young are the wise
o so very (so very so very so)o how she did not understand him.o so very (so very so very so) in Free Verse More Like This
five men. four were painters and one held
rags to soak up the blood. she did not under
stand how five little boys (each with a well
worn set of man's hands) donned in white and grey
and otherwise looking rather aware and real and now
could be o so very been.
still young, she said. she told them to run. that is
what she told them. she caked them in glitter
and dressed them in gold and told them to run.
and that was all she could identify was that.
that they were simply o so very been. except, of course,
the first four (who aged past her in a year), and the
fifth one who dyed his hair grey so as not to be
out of place.
(and let us not forget that he was the
one who mopped up the blood).
nonetheless wore cheery smiles and
wore his glitters and his gold every day.
first four spoke in accents they didn't have
(the fifth one didn't speak at all)
but she knew and knew and knew.
she had been too lateー told them to run.
and o how he'd
girl who goes homethey say that when you're in too deep it's best to keep the blinds drawn. don't look up, don't look ahead; do not go home. they tell you to hold hands and duck deep underーthat even the fingers of the sun can only stretch so far. it's dark.girl who goes home in Drama More Like This
(and then—suddenly and inexplicably—there's a light.)
II: Your room smells like Cheetos and pot.
I: If you hate it so much, breath through your mouthIt's my room.
II: Ugh, and your breath smells even worse. Altoid?
I: Fuck you.
III: Oh my god, you two. Shut. Up.
I: Okay, okay, cut the bitchy attitude. I shoulda' known better then to let you raid the tea box; you always get crazy when you drink more than two cups at once.
III: I do not! You little
II: Now, Now, girls, be nice.
I: Okay, okay whatever. No one gives a crap.
II: Hey, pass me a slice of jalapeño pizza?
III: Souh . . .so whe
almost haiku, iv (i'll still be climbing)linger in the old worldalmost haiku, iv (i'll still be climbing) in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
even the man who ate the sun
believes in miracles
almost haiku, i (the depths)i changed my mind, okay?almost haiku, i (the depths) in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
i don't want to be a writer,
i just want to wake up.
hitori, futari (alone, together)一人、二人、hitori, futari (alone, together) in Free Verse More Like This
The Old Feelings(i'm a little high right now because yesterday i gave up my soul to a broom. it was only out of goodwill, though, i promise. this exchange took place back stage, about five minutes before a dance performance. it seemed rather appropriate at the time. you see, the broom was a dancer―just like me―and i felt a bit of a kinship with it because of that, or maybe because of the emotions that fluttered through the bristles―i could see 'em, smell 'em, could practically taste 'em―but there was no sweat on it's brow, no soul that i could see.The Old Feelings in Emotional More Like This
i remembered how S had called me beautiful that night, and i remembered how i couldn't think of the last time anyone but my mommy had said that to me, and i swallowed all my pride along with most of my teeth. just for a little while. because i knew that K wasn't right about the inequality of broomsticks and people, and that if it were my choice i would never step on anything, not even shoes. it wasn't fair, not at all,
where are they nowxxx.where are they now in Free Verse More Like This
i hate it
how whenever i
have problems, you
tell me to
ask god, but
i can't find
god or breakfast
in the pieces
of food stuck
between my teeth.
bite your tongue!ー
things aren't the
same as they
used to be.
(you won't begin to fathom
how hard this is
for me to