you, into my bones
dug marrow with a spade.
my house, filled with cats & combs;
only breathless air can fade.
the points of his nails
raging against her patchwork quilt,
ripped off the ends of my cattails
and my celosia began to wilt.
there are many wicked things
and the spade is most impartial.
swords and daggers will slay kings
but the spade buries the marshall.
I. I am a jealous Go(rfice)d.
II. From my nails & brimstone the Berlin Wall arose.
III. Terror runs down my throat like flower petals in cakes.
IV. You are like washing your hands before sticking them
down your throat - false health.
V. I always have to explain Jacob's ladder to you.
VI. Then you slip on my lungs.
VII. Shiver up chain link fences with me, if you're beautiful.
VIII. My stars can't align.
today, we soaked in summertime kisses like gingerale --
sharp and wonderful
stitches hastily sewn over and over littered our sunburned stomachs
as we caught smiles on the murky breeze
i wish that there was no end to this florescent heart haze
and that when we danced,
the air would caress our shoulders like father's hands and king's cloaks.
i’ve really enjoyed exploring the extent elmer’s glue,
even though it’s dried in between my fingers; it makes me feel like i still have scars to finger.
me and my grandmother (ma grandmere et moi), we plastered it onto our varicose veins and inside the cracks of our bone stone walls
as she lights another cigarette,
as another smoke vein wafts toward my heart (déplace-t-elle ton coeur?)
beaten down, beaten down, fall down stairs
as the third one creaks
as the fifth one gives
i forget how to breath (mais c’est à peine été!)
Edie and I cut her rosery quite well
in fact, ev
we sank under the silence of the moon
glistened like idle hands grazing the ice
i think it was a sunday afternoon
when just your breath and bones seemed to suffice.
lacy lily pads laughed at our dirty feet
and caustic moss mulled over the boat's planks
your bones filled my heart with their listless grief
we hung heartstring melodies on the banks.
i kissed your whispers, those crystal rock doves
you leaked into stories of last night's love.
i don't know how you count your blessings
and rib-shaking brays from inside a white picket fence.
1, 2, 3, 4
and make sure to bend and turn your head and not your body and keep your heels down
you don't know how hard i work to make it look this goddam easy.
please, yank your hoof away from me
then bruise my side as i tighten your girth.
inhale and exhale
fingering your way through peppermints
hay fever is better than any crack i've ever tried
rotton carrot tack trunks
and two-cent ribbons
cost more than that handbag. (who's? mine? yes.)
but after aching thighs and burning
I have fingers made for dialing rotary telephones until sore and
for pricking; one, two, many times
and pressing crescent moons into skin.
I am a cultivation of blood—bloodlines and blood oaths
and blood drawn from sewing needles, among other things...
chewed up blooding lips.
scratched bloody cuticles paired
with blood under fingernails.
bloody scalp and
Blood. Blood. Blood.
and damn, the best New Years Resolution I can give is,
maybe I'll do better next time.
I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another co
she is a bird sitting, teetering on
a power line because
one way or another, she figures
the best way to end
is a big bang.
He is a fish swimming, traversing along,
Against the crashing tide because
He figures he can defy the law one or way or another,
And the best way to begin
Is to finish the end
Before he's stuck in her talons.
though she is made of feathers
and bones and she is still weightless enough
to take to the currents of air,
she is powerless
against the waves his actions
make, and she is so easily swept away that
she thinks her body might as well
be made of stones.
He could tell she was astounded by his ocean,
By the place
i didn’t realize that you were my sixth vertebrae
until i broke my
( i stepped through the cracks in the tunnel when you held my hand )
you skated out of the hospital like the ribbons
living in the edges of my eyelids -
i knew you were a dancer on the left stage of my Broadway
right around the streetlights in my ribcage.
i switched my veins for electricity and my eyes for strobe lights
letting the vibrations shatter my sweet bones.
( we drove that car down i-75 at breakneck )
you shivered into my skin like hyperactive meteors
& i thought i was your polish girl [stretched into your cosmos]
i was looking through facebook and i found that ^
i know i've seen the piece before on here and was wondering if anybody knew who it belonged to, and if they had permission to put it on Facebook.