...your struggles have made you wisewhen the counsellor tells you your struggles have made you wise......your struggles have made you wise in Free Verse More Like This
ask her how useful the knowledge of how many punches it takes to lay you cold on the floor will be in future. ask her if the endless frost that shivers under your fragile skin is going to turn out handy, a free cooling agent in the heated heights of summer. ask her where she was every morning when you took the pills and crumpled the plastic cup pathetic in your fist. ask her about the taste of toothpaste and bile, how she felt when the dentist marked the progression of decay and solemnly warned you to cut down on sweets. ask her how it feels to keep all those suicides filed away in her desk drawer knowing that they were never ‘wise’ enough to see another way out and through. ask her about the first time she drank until she threw up for hours after she’d become sober again because a boy wouldn’t touch her, or a girl wouldn’t give her a second glance. question everything because there&
diveno matterdive in Free Verse More Like This
when you hit
the water, the lake
an orchestrated litany of lies*an orchestrated litany of lies in Free Verse More Like This
your body is a chirping crocus. [yellow] it grew
in the dark. your mother’s body an elasticated hairtie stretching
to accommodate you
snap your budding head from the depths of sultry earth.
everybody take your seats now
young whippersnappers when the mountain comes through the clouds it will
envy the dead their youth.
confused we wandered two by two
into the ark. this land is stripped clean like a chicken carcass
where no flesh will rot. uncooked corpses charred black
melodic counterpoint. nobody is responsible.
the hedgehog has failed to relax its spines in death.
erebus quietly snivelling
“i am a bear. if you stumble into these woods, bring berries for me.”
the fruit is ripe but it has no seedsi want a jellyfish in a jar, want my own tinythe fruit is ripe but it has no seeds in Free Verse More Like This
spineless galaxy and when the walls close in i’ll shine a light under it like a lava lamp
and watch it bob
and it will calm me down so i can roam the forests of my sleep until
another morning shakes me gently on the shoulder and says
‘how do you feel, what do you want’ i want
the beast back, the monster-me
ever-wanting crash queen
teeth i can sink poetry in, the feeling of
in the soft skin beneath my claws, eyes
window-shuttered clacking back and forth
with the breeze we breathe until everything is
lightdarklightdarklightdarklightdarkdarkdarkdarkdarkdark let me tell you how
when you get bigger you learn to gulp up every fireball they throw to you,
swallow down, stay down- like this, do you see me
hunched in the corner catching suns in my hands and stuffing each one
down my dry velvet throat to
feel it char my insides black until i’m
shrinking as i grow,
i’m big on the outside but all that was in
voicelessi.voiceless in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I lost my voice one day. I woke up to a hollow echo in the base my throat and knew I’d lost something special before I’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. I checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
I found my voice one day. I took long walks with silent friends, made travel plans and came home tired but fulfilled. I pulled a pen from the junk drawer, or sat down at a keyboard, or bought a journal on a whim and found it curled up around my fingers, sleeping, rusty, but alive.
UnreadI found my own book in the local used book store. The one I spent half of my life writing. The one that spent two years in the editing process. The very one that I autographed for my lover and found in the fifty cent bin of what used to be my favorite book store.Unread in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
GreyI like the color grey;Grey in Free Verse More Like This
it's not black and it's not white,
but sometimes it's a little blue.
Mourning“It’s not like that; there’s nothing wrong with mourning your wife. Everyone deals with it in their own way. But now – sometimes. . . It’s just that sometimes you get this look on your face that’s less I wish she were here, and more I wish I were with her, and that scares me a little bit.”Mourning in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
EvergreenThe tree was different every year. He wasn't sure when the phenomenon began. He had only noticed in the last decade, when he moved back to his childhood home. Whenever the leaves grew back, it was a different tree. This year was a birch. Last year, an oak.Evergreen in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He hoped it never became a pine.
WrenchedSometimes I want to open myself up and pluck my own too tightly closed ribcage, pry it apart to see how the inner mechanism works, prove that heartache is just caused by a wrench that fell into the gears. A wrench with your name on it, but something that can be removed all the same.Wrenched in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
SandcastlesI want to know your hands like I want your hands to know the wrecked coastline of my body, knotted kelp hair and driftwood spine, shell pink skin and sea glass eyes. Your hands are made for building sandcastles from leftovers; I have all the materials you’ll ever need if you’ll just make me beautiful.Sandcastles in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We meet at the sea strandIf I was an old buildingWe meet at the sea strand in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
and if you were a sailboat,
the dialogue of the tides would
sing all the lonesome love
letters you never wrote.
GenerousThere’s this pressure buildingGenerous in Free Verse More Like This
in my chest that I don’t know
what to do with so I cram mason
jars with cookies, craft mix
tapes full of Americana punk, leaf
through used bookstores, looking
for a taste you never savored, songs you never
heard, books you never read and maybe
I can give you that instead of my feelings.
Stay Dreamingyou are pale in the half-light;Stay Dreaming in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
all the fire you carry with you in the waking world is doused in the sweetness of your hair across the pillow & your frame insinuating itself in the sheets, in pockets of weight & pools of shadow that say "i am a body", "i am a girl"
(vulnerable yet terrifying)
& in life you are larger than you seem, thunder & lightning inside colored glass. you are cruel-mouthed but soft-eyed, & brittle queen (you would rather break than bend for me), you are all the lovelier for your frail-boned pride.
it is strange how much i see of you when you are not looking back, how i feel as though it is only in moments like these (in not-quite-daylight, in dreaming) that we are truly at peace. for is it not that our natures may be likened to those of sea & sky? were we not born to crash & storm & shriek & boil against one another? (what is the nature of the place where we meet? for i do not believe in the horizon; blue on blue, it can only be an illusion
sunflowers.they will see her and they will say,sunflowers. in Free Verse More Like This
"she was loved, but now no longer.
and paper-pressed sunflowers,
she is the vision of a dead summer."
Booklovernighttime suits us best.Booklover in Free Verse More Like This
to go away into a story,
to fold myself inside your body
comes easier in the dark, when I
am as restless as the river in bed
& to disappear in the breath between
one page & the next
is to share ourselves.
science and faithcan you imaginescience and faith in Free Verse More Like This
all the booming
and the banging
and the stars
and the Word
and a boy
and a girl
God Himself Can't TellLeft wanting for the days when you held everything togetherGod Himself Can't Tell in Free Verse More Like This
Just the damnedest thing; they're ones I barely remember
There was so much living after your life passed us by
Behind infinity, do you judge us with 'em eyes?
I am a broken bird, downwind of free, a messed-up little thing
And you're a vague ocean sprawled beneath my wings
If the sun should condemn me
Would I crash into your salt-sweet memory?
If I'm a wish bone then you're an asthmatic skeleton
This is the story of a Silly who doesn't know if she's your someone
(Never daddy's girl, you're gone)
Dusty tokens of love, count them all
Proud of us now, the way we've turned out?
Sinners, every last one, but we try till we've run into the ground
Oh, how you wouldn't believe us
I wish the numbers would swallow me up
Counting every-other-yester-years till I'm back to all we've missed
Please breathe for this
MuseYou'd be outlined heartache, scarlet letter AMuse in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Slumped posture: (get a backbone) spelled out past days
Angled cheekbones numbered by skies of summer
Stained soul of teenage choice, why not forget her?
Your heart, it would be porcelain afterthought
I'm the atomic bomb to your tinsel box
Pockmarked you never said goodbye, I just won't
Your pulse: a bass drum. Your ribcage: of bird-bone
That gaze: a static halo of symphonies
Hands take, break, a bruising touch of false glory
If I could paint your picture like you've done mine
With words, subtleties; not color, turpentine
Each limb would sigh, I don't want you to see me
Eyes: cinnamon snapshots where I'd never be
My depressingly beautiful, please come clean
Lips: I'll try, but not really, say what you mean
If you were drawn with diction, punctuation
Then all that you would be is an impression
But still your smile would be a world and then some
Full of shallo
symptoms of red a materialistsymptoms of red in Free Verse More Like This
inside of you
unknitting your sweater
& in your dream
you are a wolf eating
a flower in an orange field. the world
is ending. an unnamed girl stains you
as if she were tea
giving up to a
she writes a story: the unrequited
blurry visions of two visionaries
literally, a quesadilla more than you willliterally, a quesadilla in Free Verse More Like This
you smell like
new car, shirt stuck
to skin. laughing:
I wonder what
would happen if we
fucked right here,
just confidently lacing
the space between
planets with electric
enduring biopoiesis getting over itenduring biopoiesis in Free Verse More Like This
in quick gasps of rabbit fur
and valley tangles
we would have
had such darling
strung out on fake roses
floating on our sun-striped backs
but we're so
some world-children cutting
out, tuning in yet
the inchoate incarnate it's a perfectthe inchoate incarnate in Free Verse More Like This
night to be
by the militia of
dry like yellow moss
sublime forests will
burn with the charred
quietude of our
beneath a weltering
nothing lies forever & ifnothing lies forever in Free Verse More Like This
it's because I can't
among the grassy ribbons
of your old zeta ego
& if I miss tongue,
teeth and cheeks
let the pavement carve
new mouths into my tights
she writes an another
poem about cigarettes
her east coast
stonemaze sometimes, I pretendstonemaze in Free Verse More Like This
our home is tinnitus
I scrape pine needles
into a horizontal bowl.
settling in like snow
inside my finger
up sparks. he
may be the last
fire fight that bites
through my palms;
may be the last
monolith to collect
I should be left alone
letting the passage of time
sink into the corners
of my eyes
don't trust me unhinged like a stolendon't trust me in Free Verse More Like This
surge of ocean, I become
what your girlfriend thinks I
am: drinking alone, forgetting
your name until it flowers
from my blackberry throat
I wash my tangled
hair in your kitchen sink,
slippers your ghost eats peanut butterslippers in Free Verse More Like This
out of the jar. an atomic grease
fire tongues our oven like an
if only we walked on clouds
if only we lived in the belly of the ocean
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost,i don't need to sell my soul in Free Verse More Like This
stylish arsonists + I still
escaping from your lips
broken bonesI want to write rough and raw and unbearablebroken bones in Free Verse More Like This
the way cigarettes taste at midnight
to a tired atheist knocking on a locked church door
wondering whether to pray or scream
I want to write cold and brutal and honest
like fog-choked dawns on unfamiliar city streets
when the silence presses behind your eyelids
and breathing feels like blasphemy
I want to write like the midnight air that burns the back of your throat
like cold fury and boiling hatred
like the panic that eats into bone marrow
the fear that runs prickling fingers down twisted spines
I want to write of you and me and everything
pin the stars behind my eyelids into letters to no one
I want to scar you with unspun metaphor
To write until my hands shake
until I break myself with honesty
until I empty myself or
until my wrist
what i oweto the leering men screaming catcalls from their coughing cars,what i owe in Free Verse More Like This
to the stranger in the grocery store who grabbed my ass
and told me to take it as a compliment,
to the teenage boys with bad facial hair and damp palms
who sit at their computers in their cum-stained sweatpants
and tell me all the things i owe them:
i do not owe you "pretty."
when i have days of baggy t-shirts and no makeup,
pony tails and ragged nails and untied tennis shoes,
i do not dress for you.
and when i rock winged eyeliner and flashing red lipstick,
when my hair cascades in golden curls over my clean, white shoulders,
i do not dress for you.
i pluck my eyebrows because i like the fierce angle they make in my mirror,
wear spiked heels for their commanding click on tile floors,
smear red lipstick over my secretive smile because it tastes like
blood and confidence-
i do not dress for you.
i do not owe you "pretty."
i owe myself confidence
i owe myself comfort
i owe myself pride
i owe myself the knowledge that i am co
here's the truth about decembersummer girl,here's the truth about december in Free Verse More Like This
there was no poetry in the letter you left
hidden in my mailbox that rainy december tuesday
there was no poetry in
the pages and pages of scribbled goodbyes
scrawled letters wayward as your windswept hair
that day we went adventuring in the heavy summer twilight
when i kissed your sunburnt cheek
and promised the snow would never fall.
no poetry in those final fullstops,
just rote exhaustion and splattered ink
because darling, we've both tried too hard for too long
and the truth is, i'm too tired to play pretend.
there was no poetry in
in the strained steel of your voice
that day in the school parking lot
as rain froze on my windshield
"Are You Clean? Be Honest."
and darling, i lied.
no poetry in the emptiness at the back of your eyes
as you lay on my bed that windy november day and
i realized that it was the last time i'd see you there
"Are You Clean? Be Honest."
and darling, i
broke myself with my honesty.
this is the last poem i'll write for you.
the last poem to my firsti.the last poem to my first in Free Verse More Like This
you always touched me carefully,
running your light fingers over my shaking hips
as if i were a fragile thing
(to be protected instead of loved)
but in the end
you broke me
you always said you didn't know how you felt about me
but the loneliness in your trailing fingertips
told me all i needed to hear.
how many "i love you"s have drowned
in the uncertainty behind your eyelids?
how many kisses have died
in the doubt i tasted on your tongue?
new years day i woke up in your bed
alone with a headache
and a house of cards in my mind.
you pushed it over the first time you breathed into my ear that morning
whispering you loved me
as if it were a secret
as if i were a secret
we were broken things together
crazy things together
driven insane and driving insane
desperate and deserted
but you can't build a relationship
out of mutual loneliness.
never give yourself to an artist
because you miss writing love poems.
but someday i'll miss you.
Chapter EightI leaned against the doorframe, careful not to put my tail into a compromising position. Grandpa had splinted it, but I didn’t want to do anything taxing. Better not to push my luck.Chapter Eight in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
“I’ve gotten his name so far, but not much else. He seems to have some trouble understanding and speaking – frankly, I think just remembering his name was an effort.” I said, looking at Benjamin in the sofa. He was scanning the room with a haggard look on his face, as if he couldn’t really make heads or tails of what was happening. I can’t blame him, I suppose. Judging by his difficulty with speech, he had had either little to none contact with people, or been out of touch for a very long time. Most of the time I had spoken to him, all I’d gotten as a reply was a confused look and a faint hum every now and then.
“He seems wary and afraid – I’m a bit afraid myself to be honest.” Dad said and shook his head. He nodded slightly in the gen
Dreams - Chapter ThreeI heard a small chirping sound from my left. I looked there, and to my surprise I saw a small sparrow sitting on the roof tile next to me. It was looking curiosly at me with its head tilted to one side. It did not seem to fear me one tiny bit, possibly due to the fact that it had never seen something like me before. I slowly extended one of my claws towards it, and it hopped onto it. Bringing it up to my face, I peered closer. It eyed me conspiciously for a few seconds before fluttering over to one of my horns. I glanced at it in wonder. Brave thing, that.Dreams - Chapter Three in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Hey there, fella." I said to the bird. It chirped back in response. I smiled, gazing out over the landscape before me. The entire valley below me was covered in glistening white snow. The road that ran from one end of the valley to the other stood out like a soot streak on a white paper. Very few cars ever came by due to the fact that the highway had been moved further away, making the place where we live a very calm place. I breath
Dreams - Chapter FourShit, shit, shit, SHIT! I screamed inwards. Okey, stay calm, stay calm! Talk like you're human, prove that you're nice quick as hell.Dreams - Chapter Four in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"FREEZE!" One of the coppers yelled.
"Whoa, whoa. Slow down. I think there's been a misunderstanding." I said slowly. Shitshitshitshit. I am so screwed.
"Put your han- Put your claws in the air!" He yelled at me again.
Slowly, I raised my paws above my head. My tail was tense as a cable behind me, clearly a reflex in preparation for a battle. Not today, bro. I hope. The officer motioned for me with his gun to move away from Jim. I cautiously stepped to the side, focusing on coming up with something resembling a plan.
"Ahahah! I told you so! See? See? It's a bloody monster!" I heard Ben shout from behind a car.
"Will you shut up for just one second? We can see for ourselves." Another voice said.
A second cop nervously walked up to me, keeping his gun aimed directly at my muzzle. His eyes were darting around like a madmans, a sure sign
Chapter SevenThe rover pulled up in the snowdrifts next to our house, marking our path with deep tracks in the snow. The ride back had been quick but uncomfortable, due to the numerous bumps and holes in the road leading home.Chapter Seven in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Pushing myself up from the floor, I maneuvered around the black dragon and opened the door. The sunlight stung my eyes in sharp contrast to the dark interior of the military rover as I stuck my head outside. My father had already gotten out of the front seat and looked at me.
I gestured at the house. "Clear out the sofa – we'll need to get him indoors in a safe position. "
He nodded, and pointed at the rover. "You don't need any help getting him out and inside?" he asked.
"Sure, but I need a place to put him first."
I turned back into the car, assessing the situation. If he had sustained damage, there was no knowing what additional injury we might cause by moving him around too much, but leaving him in the rover wasn't really an option either. He didn't have an
Dreams - Chapter FiveIndoor firing ranges are usually composed of one big concrete room, lined with reinforced baffles along the walls and roof. Ventilation shafts dot the space, constantly sucking out lead particles and smoke from the cartridge primers, bullets and leftovers from previous sessions. The back wall is often a sloping earthen bank with a collector, designed to stop and capture bullets that hits it. Targets can be both stationary, and in more modern facilities, moving. When designed as civilians, targets are usually made out of paper or plastic coreflute and sometimes when used for long-range shooting covered with some canvas on the back.Dreams - Chapter Five in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Most ranges are divided into several lanes, one for each person. The lanes differ much from situation to situation, but they most commonly only have a support for the gun. When using rifles, a chair might be there for the person to sit in.
The noise levels in a shooting range can reach over 140 Db, enough to cause permanent hearing loss and will in fact cause
Dreams: Chapter Six - Threads, Part 1 or 2The sky was on fire. Screams echoed around me. I ran through the streets. Left, right, up the alley, trapped! I beat my wings, trying to reach a thermal. This can't be happening.Dreams: Chapter Six - Threads, Part 1 or 2 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Where am I? I was in the car; we were driving home from the police station. I don't understand.
I reach up to my head. My paw comes back bloody. Where am I?
My vision starts to fade, everything is turning black. Oh no, not the ground! Not the ground!
* * *
I coughed and struggled to open my eyes. Did I crash? Where the hell-
Forcing my eyes open, I find an airbag released onto my face, popped by one of my horns. Groaning, I look around.
Dad is hanging limp in his seatbelt, bleeding out of his nose. Oh, no no no no…
"Dad? Dad?!" My voice breaks.
I reach out for him, aching from the impact everywhere. I put a shaky paw on him. His chest is rising up and down slowly and irregularly, but at least he's breathing.
Thank god, Thor and Odin and the belt manufacturer and his wife and mother and his blessed gr
petrodollarthe hill has been butterfliedpetrodollar in Free Verse More Like This
and everything that causes noise speaks
in a foreign language
a radio chokes itself
saying the sound of empty country is snow
the distance between freeways is arrested
as reports about frost come second-hand
(things the soldiers fell like:
trees, leaves, airplanes)
an owl blasts through the mountain,
angels, expatriated from our father’s paradise
do taxes in a public park
Overpasses arc like the rings of a dying planet
Nobody can find work
now kids have taken to demanding
explanations from god
while last night the anarchists
doing their best to imitate the pacific
found only the silence of constant traffic
AliensThey have no notion of past or present,Aliens in Free Verse More Like This
everything is about oceans.
When they ask for you
it is really a story about seeing the ocean.
Listen. It is failure of bridges that builds angels.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
Is this the depression
we've all been experiencing?
Please have a seat and forget the edge of that coast,
you were not intended for this distance.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
I believe we're all owed an explanation.
Where is this manifest?
I've never ridden a horse, I am being dreamed about.
You would not believe
the stories redwoods have.
You each get one phone call.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
But the voicemail I've been trying to reach,
"I dream of psychiatrists telling stories
about dreaming of women
they've seen in unedited videos on the internet.
Sometimes they save her from that burning nightclub."
If you're going, leave your voice
somewhere in a room I know.
autoflowerreorganize the bodyautoflower in Free Verse More Like This
my artillery is a hall full of dancers
because to avoid death the ocean divides itself
and divides itself
until she's a shadow full of rooms
or eventually even the acid and the earthquake
But we've imagined this backwards.
the elephant's battered radiation talks all prophets from the building
Upon the stockpile mouths flood dry
and so many cardinals
of that hollow universe
And so what, auction the wind
After, no one will be left to speak
and I laugh because the same parts divide us
For the machine:
I hang these plane crashes from your clotheslines
retrogradein october we harvest but this is a poem and I am a mailbox and the type of stuttering half-winter in my city.retrograde in Scraps More Like This
sometimes i shout the oklahoma radio rust, sometimes invent a dixie-cup field of red space as an argument for displacement v. disappearance- and when i'm lonely your district is peopled and settled by the babbled rivers in the architecture blueglow in writhing continents of jellyfish [which, as metaphors, predate political affiliation and the quaking earth]
And then all oak amplifiers in the mountain suicide, then all photorealized rivers jaundiced paleyellow from a draining sun.
I went out and came home to a fire on the street
I saw a car and a man suspended over the shoulder of the freeway, both motionless
I believe mars was in retrograde as I fucked a girl near a forest.
We harvested the crop, fucked, and then sat apart and alone in the dark,
because this is a poem.
emails to and from a friendthe weakness of their faith is that it becomes baffled by the occurrence of mountainsemails to and from a friend in Free Verse More Like This
believe me, i've loved you once
[to articulate the fall of airplanes]
pain is your voice leaving the body
we aren't going to make it
they left our bodies on the street
I didn't know you know how to smoke
things go wrong, i suppose,
things will go wrong
no one talks about you
it's like this, i guess
it's like all those songs you loved
that I can't seem to remember anymore
consider the detriments of freedom
you write to people that don't exist
i'm so sorry
i can't find your exit
you haven't called in so long they updated the memorial
to include a photo of a bird
it's like this everywhere i go
Objects will grown in their affections for other objects.
I'm so sorry I can't find your exit.
"The entanglements of atomic structures preexist San Diego;
you can believe everything all at on
Time Travel for Ex AddictsThe only thing you can take with you is musicTime Travel for Ex Addicts in Free Verse More Like This
And a couple of streets if you have room
Leave the T.V. behind but turned on
You may not bring a watch, digital or otherwise
Nor may you bring the possibility of rain
After dinner get yourself lost
There will be questions. Don't answer any of them
Eventually the voices will start to come together until everything is noise
Next type the name of a young boulevard in the interface
Lie down near that street while it snows and count backwards from 100
You will find yourself in bed but don't worry
it isn't yours
A voice will fall from the sky and say,
Please remain hysterical
in the event of an emergency.
If something goes wrong you will die.
Para Espanol oprima numbero dos.
There are no other options
Fight sleep, it's a poor substitute for making planetfall
When you close your eyes you will see light
And it will remind you of traffic
You have to think about a song now
Any song will do
named after women
When you see a fe
florenciashe believes again that possession is a kind of miracleflorencia in Free Verse More Like This
stuttering in metro the history of continents
a bird > a woman > a room
of old linen
in abstracts of florence parallel florencia
her bones and pangea could be drawn there maybe
think: if this train derails
because time because the failure rate
is absolution divided constantly
it's like freedom and indica
all contraindicated folk religion
the hybrid on her tongue like a brief encounter
with old lovers in a rose garden at fairmount part
i thought of you today
thought of los angeles
that pathology east and of high-rise
designed to dance in the event of an earthquake
all the things that brought you back there
it's not the act of breaking down
on highways on trains in parks
it's an inert brand of want
that feels something like evolution
and oh everything is full of condition
i drink and speak your name often
but what an accident this all is
belizeduring abduction always listen-belize in Free Verse More Like This
they pull a mountain to the gurney
and cut the planets free
and the garden, in its horizon, lifts like a horse
until the shouting is a baffled continent.
No, we don't make it but take your pick:
the blue voice trapped in the array
the grey train ruins strangling her hills
the woman remembering a streetlight.
these miracles belong to us.
we will take them into whatever dark space we are marched.
After? a glass migration flowers these machines
and survivors emerge bright from the metal
ContingencyThe survival plan was contingent on blues,Contingency in Free Verse More Like This
after the subway is bombed and the pigeons settle like grief
Sometimes we communicate in diseases sometimes
the angels that haunt the space between factories
exchanging all the promised inertia for flowers
that bloom and die instantaneously
And after the country would appear as people
stumbled upon the shore in language and crowds of telephone wires
And then the protocol says
everything is bad weather in this fall-
the endoskeletons of factories are crawling through the fog,
as our horses
quietly return to the ocean.
infrasoundtoday each strange invasion owns our broadcastsinfrasound in Free Verse More Like This
and their wreckage is believing and the arms wrapped in metal
and how we gamble with the breakdowns from people whose absence fills you
like a motel thick with prayer
or a prayer soaked in motel
or the closed revival in clothes on her floor-
the silence last night as my neighbor told me about the accident
told me about his brother-in-law
told me about losing jesus in a peach desert in california.
after the last helium mine is abandoned
all of my research imagines you,
the gulf of this crash poured around the body-
each disaster divided and swollen with wheat
I have your number, SeabirdHis bathroom is small and bleak. The mirrorI have your number, Seabird in Free Verse More Like This
shows your reflection in seven colors which
haven't been named on the red-blue-yellow
spectrum. Your eyes are shaking like eggs
and he hasn't said your name in a year. You
think of everything he calls you: Jay, Jaybird,
Rose if he's playful. He told you particles of
every man he's slept with are in the carpet
when he pulled your head back to look into
your pupils. Your eyes are black. They run,
raw and rotten from fluorescence overhead.
He told you the shrooms weren't the same.
If you don't like LSD, you might feel better
trying something more natural. It grows
like marijuana: from the ground. But so does
every poison you can think of. You're natural,
bare with shades you can't begin to fathom.
Something like sulfur is in your nostrils. You
touch the furry rug and think of Vishnu. He
has so many arms to carry you. Jesus only has
two. The church was broad and heavy. It sleeps
in Chicago, beside a park that smells like piss.
He opens the door,
You can have your poem now.yearning:You can have your poem now. in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
an intense feeling of longing
for something that may have never existed
despite our soaked physical evidence
strewn across the bathroom floor
beside our limbs and your vomit,
a retching twitch in your gut,
"and let it be known that men
are more sexually possessive in their thoughts
often leading them to the belief
that after pilfering through the slough
they are owed a perfect human being
fashioned from the schematics written on their rib or
pulled over the shape of adam's incomplete skeleton,
lusting for happiness
and an easy way to keep it because
that first fuck was just so good,"
though honestly, i don't remember meeting you,
your persistence a golden shadow in the hallway
where you looked at me from six stairs above:
hands hanging at your sides,
the noise of a crowd below the grating,
a hole in your left shoulder,
hair dark and frizzy,
eyes greener beside your red-burst whites,
nose pointed to ask
if i had ever done acid and if
i wanted to try it, "free of
Mirsad,i. sadness is the most euphoric thing i've feltMirsad, in Free Verse More Like This
You were high all through September
and would come around the house
I was staying at. No one else
tolerated your bullshit, not after taking
Griffin's Xanax: a whole night spent
with your head in the toilet and irises
trembling in their whites. You were talking
about a girl we both knew,
who just graduated high school,
had a bad three day trip after some guy
sold her shitty acid and gave her free tabs,
let her take them in his backyard.
“Her boyfriend picked her up,”
you explained. You were on your third
cigarette, though you’d confided in me
you found the taste repulsive and
dry. “He took her home and while
she was lying on the bed, she lost bladder control,
and when he left and came back to the room
there was piss soaked through her jeans,
the sheets, everything. She’s still tweaking,
but I saw her and she seemed okay.
I mean, she’s not very stable.”
You stood up on Lane's bed
and ran your hands
Big EyesI was reared toward codependenceBig Eyes in Free Verse More Like This
on the jutting hip of a woman
who couldn't speak English,
on the thrush tongue of a man
who couldn't hold his liquor
and remarried to a gringa,
a sympathy puker. Ammonia
paled the hair in my nostrils,
kneeling on the third stair,
plucking the big chunks up
with a napkin. I gagged,
relapsed into the role
which wrote my schemes
of intellectualization: crushing
and cutting thin lines of diseases,
inhaling the belonging
inherent to helping a drunk
up to his bedroom. It wasn't until
I walked through the aisles
of a buzzing corporate womb,
reading the recipes for diet soda
and composite fences, that I
was birthed to an understanding
that empathy isn't weakness
if you can learn to distinguish
right from wrong, heroin from china,
selfishness from self-preservation.
in tanto discrimineI want to take a train back down to the city,in tanto discrimine in Free Verse More Like This
for the sights I can't recall to image. My friends who like to stare
at billboard advertisements and signs in red and white which read:
apartments for rent. great views of the lake. brand new appliances.
will take me through a few parks and beaches by the white hotels
with a thousand golden windows.
Maybe next Saturday, before October's past us,
we'll rent a room with stainless faucets and carbonated water
in green glass bottles. We'll pry open the wide bathroom windows
and blow smoke into a bluster. We'll skate to Navy Pier on black ice,
then glide with yellow lights across an evolving fractal,
in the split wake of a whale or speedboat:
and like velvet,
and like water,
But it remains the same: I see Chinatown when Lindsay vomits,
steaming plates of vegetables and staggered brickwork,
a clot of tired eyes and skin.
Everything is CautiousThe most exhausting peopleEverything is Cautious in Free Verse More Like This
are extroverted and clingy. They
drain what little tolerance
I have for trivial problems. But Valerie
always called me in the morning,
when I was too foggy from an early
attack of sleep paralysis: a shadowed man
with a filmy complexion sat
at the foot of my bed and vibrated
atomic handholds. She bustled between
snide comments while I tried
to smother my nerves and fall asleep
Casual Bullshituncreative blasphemyCasual Bullshit in Free Verse More Like This
is sometimes mistaken for high art
in unprovoked conversations
"God isn't here,
at least not as the spectre
so i've decided His absence
with a metaphor to hide my fear
speaking in a rash persona
with a new faith
The Weather LatelyWhen I tilt my glass up,The Weather Lately in Free Verse More Like This
dregs of iced tea powder
become an orange starscape,
an eclipse pecked with holes:
summer, full and searing.
Tuesday's PrayerGod forgive me; I've been mistaking good sex and better marijuana for spiritual enlightenment again.Tuesday's Prayer in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The DeadI have chemical wakefulness,The Dead in Free Verse More Like This
10 dollars and 27 cents hidden last night,
somewhere around the apartment, maybe in the couch
or behind the drywall. The red stiff pillows are on the carpet,
my chest was stuffed with vibrations and tapered:
It's not in the kitchen. Not in our bedroom,
but you have forty dollars in your wallet.
Your body's in airspace. Maybe you had dinner,
your parents' favorite restaurant,
or called Richard while you smoked in the parking lot,
feather hymns, exosongs, traffic tones,
a late ride home, long straight roads, flaking paint,
creaking sway, bitter drip, dragging lights,
a choking fit,
his nihilistic faith, a repetitive twitch,
how he appreciated with his fists,
and you were 23,
thought everything was plain
"I'll pick up something for dinner,"
but I only spend 18.60 at the supermarket.
.i've written so many poems. in Free Verse More Like This
about love and luck and the
unbearable sadness that surfaces
whenever i think about you.
but you isn't a person,
you is a metaphor for the
birds suffocating in the clouds and the
leaves fighting off the wind.
and when i see flowers
all i can think of is death;
because i am a poet,
and my kind of poetry is the
kind that keeps me up all night,
as i memorize the ceiling
and count every minute
until the sun rises.
it’s the kind that makes me
wish for a bridge because then
maybe i could finally be free.
my kind of poetry,
it’s the kind that kills me.
leap through eternityi will sink my teeth into a supernovaleap through eternity in Free Verse More Like This
to let the stardust and
slide down my parched throat and
wash over my intestines,
like a pebble
drowning in the sound--
[ features. ]it might be time to do another feature because it has been just over a thousand years since the last one.[ features. ] in Personal More Like This
the process of fading* by AlicjaRodzik
dead birds.dead birds litter the streetdead birds. in Free Verse More Like This
with their broken wings,
the blood from their claws.
the children will cup the birds in their
tiny hands and smooth the feathers
back into place.
they will carry them to the river,
setting the birds free once more.
but what they don’t know is that,
when they walk away,
the birds will only sink.