Memory slips ( Read more... )

It falls out
from page 23, papery thin and pale, shadow
of the bloom it used to be. Dark veined and frail. Still,
rose held between pages (for a decade, at least)
is bright enough to sting -- this is
what it is to miss home. Pressed flowers falling
to your feet. A brilliant unexpected flame.

Design ( Read more... )

I think he's into black magic;
small, twitching face.
I think it's the black magic that's into him.
I mean, caught between his teeth, I mean
combed into his hair. Can't you see it? Yes,
just there. And there. And there.

It will happen in a crosswalk. You will blow ( Read more... )

All the city's marigolds ( Read more... )

Nights you are away ( Read more... )

The pressure of line breaks: stun gun me to stillness ( Read more... )

Surplus reprieve. Another one. How much time has passed since the last? Bah.

A reminder that i'm a work in progress?

I don't know. A reminder of something, to be sure. Something annoying.

Is it possible to protect oneself from such thoroughly engrossing shame due to the inevitable yo-yo esque stupidity of it all? Bah. And Humbug. Respectively.

Oopsiedaisies.