Perry"Poetry is highly skilled construction of an image using words and devices to convey it."More Like This
Once she said it, I was changed. My view of myself as the artisan type - writing out tomes in a coffee shop shifted to that of a builder. A Lego warrior. I didn't trip over my feet and find a sentence snaking between my ankles! They were built. Formulated for maximal effect. Like a great mosaic in blood and mustard and cream. I am a builder.
If only I could learn how to remove scaffolding.
TaxonomyRegrettably, those who happen to share my kingdom, phylum, class, order, family genus, and species cannot possibly understand the bond I've managed to foster with the one to whom I'm attached by the class, located just below the phylum. As chordata, we've both been blessed with a wonderfully flexible spine (except, it seems, when I sit, stand, or walk, and whenever he wakes up from an especially long nap) and as mammalia we've both been benevolently blanketed by a layer or five of fibers, and though mine are perhaps fewer in number, pigment, and blatancy, they're there all the same.More Like This
Sharing a certain affinity with my alarm clock, he takes it upon himself to personally grace my countenance with his fur-coated form each morning in order to assure that I make any and all necessary appointments. His tail is held high and swished through the air as I trudge zombie-like behind him at that ungodly hour, nearly tripping over his darting, meowing form. As we reach his destination he insists tha
She speaks in sighsShe speaks in sighsMore Like This
melancholy dripping from her eyes
to her lips, leaving salty trails
on her pale cheeks
She wanders through a whirling fog
tormented by shadows
of things never there
things that will never come
to break through the misty grey,
to stop the whirling in her mind
the flooding in her eyes
She speaks in sighs
of evaporated hopes,
of disintegrating dreams
She walks hand in hand
the two so intertwined,
there is no room in her heart
the cold so permeating
warmth is simply kept away
Beautiful, Wonderful EyesI go to your home, the moon shines brightly above. It is peaceful, but something horrible has happened to your sweetheart. A dim candle-light shines through the front window, I know you are awake. When I knock you answer. Those beautiful blue eyes stare up at me. Moonlight plays off of them, turning them to a shimmering silver. I smile lovingly, nearly forgetting why I had come.More Like This
Beautiful eyes, what have they seen to make them so beautiful?
Your gentle voice breaks my thoughts. Instantly, I remember what had brought me to your doorstep this late at night. You question my presence, but you don't seem bothered by it. I try to tell you, but the words fail to come. I don't wish to carry this burden, but you need to know. I can't let you know though, in fear those beautiful eyes will become hollow. They flicker with curiousity, though your smile remains.
Wonderful eyes, what have they dreamed to make them so wonderful?
When I finally stutter the news, your smile fades, along w
Puppet DollI'm a Frankenstein's Doll.More Like This
Plaything for the maddened mind.
I am a child of all that is wrong in the world.
I stole from the dead and made them mine....
I'm your puppet, dear.
Hangman's ropes guiding my way.
These stitches hide something,
Something tearing at the seams.
In me, whose heart is beating?
Where have these hands been?
What have these eyes seen?
Can I recollect their memories of flesh?
Is my soul a patchwork reflection of my body?
Where is the me under this?
When this puppet no longer dances...
...where will I be?