Severing,
shredding them off of your side
in a burn that will twinge with each
move and stride.
It will only sear
a lot-
This…Read More »
Tag: writing
Child of the Open Air
Grabbing my toes,
I pull my butt out from beneath me,
flip me upside down,
and shake.
I plop her back on her butt and smack
her back and wait
and wait and wait
for her to burp, spit or vomit,
or to drop from any pocket
identity
not quite a train wreck
but a train that keeps starting and stopping
going the wrong way on the track
and isn’t it sad?
trying not to have an adjective
the hoe and the manwhore
My lies loved yours.
Our scars and alter egos danced,
and your ghost rolled over, straddling mine.
I found a shield in a linguistic sword;Read More »
What a Poem Means
A world demanding meaning alternates between cynicism and starry eyes.
See, all a detail must do
is matter to be written down.
And all a detail must do to matter
is to occur,
Mr. Above It All
You primal man!
You human being!
With twitching groin and heated breathing
misting as a waterfall out onto heaving neck.
One of millions staying home,
desiring food and craving sex.
The Captain
He’s thin as a rail with this equally thin
yet deceptively puffy, oversized jacket-
navy, that
he never removes.
He’s also got a farmer’s hat
with secret script written round the rim.
He never removes this,
save for in prayer.
He claims that he’s an alien.
Firsts, Lovers, and Loves
I gave you compliments like flowers,
poured my attention on you like frankincense and myrrh,
stayed in your eyes like they were worth more than your crimes and awkwardness combined-
I chose you, and I made you mine.
So though I never loved you, I loved you first.Read More »
The Tree
There’s a tree which grows on the side of the road.
It stands not alone, nor hidden at the heart of an enchantied woodland.
Ordinary and unassuming, it meekly joins the scattered foliage dotting the local park.
Pass this plant on your trek to work, and notice how you don’t notice it at all.
Listen as it asks no attention of you. Feel the stagnant air as the modest tree
makes no attempt to draw you in. Its aura keeps to itself, taking only the space that its bark requires.
Pass the tree again, however, as you head back home to the warmth of blankets,
the delight and safety of lying down. Pass the tree when the night has fallen, when the sun itself has fallen too.
When You Leave
You will relax into the safety. Your biological rhythms will sort themselves out.
You will become so happy. You’ll gush with excitement
then begin to see how strange it sounds to be so grateful for peace.
Hearing your laugh, you’ll almost think you now take survival for granted.
Alphabet Ravine 