WatermelonWith slow, uncertain breezes do we laugh,More Like This
Walking among screens and strands of hair,
Pushing back those unkept.
With shorts rising high tide, leaving full thigh,
And water-loving pink and white on top,
Watermelon in hand, and sand between toes.
This Is What I BleedSun, moon, orbiting each other into infinity:More Like This
this is not what I bleed.
I bleed a pale white coin
sweet kisses on breathing,
This is not the usual spectrum.
This is not morning, day, night,
this is undertable handhelds,
Flowers bursting in a sea of anther,
ambrosia gushing in tears of joy
under blessed light.
Stamen and Stamen. Entwined bloom.
This is what I bleed.
A fallout of linked fingers,
a flooding held in cupped
hands as bright as any other.
Sun and sun again. Moon
and moon again. Circled
in northern summers: daylight
fades into daylight.
This is what I bleed
in my veins. A carousel
of matching bodies, understanding
in the trace of a palm.
A glance turns into
a stare turns into a shout. Put
the feeling of our hands together
into an envelope and mail it,
knuckles brushed through.
This is what I bleed.
Ink. Plasma. Cosmos
down malachite rivers in my wrists
to bone c
How The Odyssey Should Have Ended That night, I woke from my dream in a cold sweat. It had been a joyous night. I had told my men of our help from Aolas with his bag of wind, and that we will return home soon. My men cried tears of joy and I was happy to see them celebrating after their horrific adventures. There was a great party on the ship with laughter, music, and drinking, but soon we had all fallen into a deep sleep and all was still. I should have been happy but an ominous feeling was hovering over me like a dark cloud, and the dream I had haunted me so I could not return to sleep.More Like This
Instead I woke up Alica; a man of my crew. He was a dream teller and a musician, but he wasn’t much of a warrior; only he insisted on going as my protector. I allowed him to come, for he was a close friend and comfort to me. I told him of my dream. In my dream there was a beautiful woman at my right arm. The woman was not Penelope however she was very familiar and close. Ther
AMANDA 4A girl bends over a box in a damp room. A crumpled creature lies inside. A rabbit, broken but still breathing. Every day the girl comes to feed and comfort the rabbit. She cares for it, loves it. Until one day she doesn't go. She continues as if the rabbit had never existed.More Like This
The woman asked her, "Why did you stop seeing the rabbit. I'm sure it's very lonely."
The girl looked at her and said, "The light and dark of the rabbit is gone. It won't be lonely anymore."
The woman didn't understand. She went to the dark room and looked at the small creature. It had stopped breathing. The woman shivered as she thought how the girl hadn't gone to see the rabbit that day, and yet she knew it was dead...