-
Alas
Twitching, itching with it
Sight unseen behind the glass
The feeling of it, the knowing it
The slip from the path
With tendons popping
Behind the knee
The seizure of the limbs,
The meat -
Held fast;
Sinking but rigid,
Searing the frigid
So determined, so righteous,
But alas
Alas -
Mission accepted.
Her head was cottony and her face felt foreign. The stretch of muscle between her shoulder blades and neck strained, tight and upset. Lank hair infiltrated the periphery of her vision, but she just blinked and swatted it away. The sound of nothing happening grew into white noise. The room was still and bright with the light shining overhead, ( Read more... ) -
New poem.
The bottom of a bottle is jeweled in the sun ( Read more... ) -
The Izuzu.
It’s on quiet mornings like this that you feel it the most. When the light trickles in through the thick morning fog, you hold your scalding cup of coffee in your curled palm and suck on your teeth in remembrance. A limp string of hair has found its way out of the bird nest sitting on your skull and you’ve got eye dirt in the duct of each eye. ( Read more... ) -
A breeze duels with lace.
A breeze duels with lace;
Sheets cool in the quiet morning
Hold me so.
I roll my eyes behind the lids;
A dream unfinished
Pulls me down.
I am swimming, swooning
In the in-between,
Near and far.
The lace calls out as it snaps,
Twists and folds, and
I’m awake now. -
Quiet morning.
It’s a special kind of love affair, this.
A tender torrent, a flood of sweetness.
It’s a quiet morning in cool sheets,
A rusty sun through a screen.
It’s the smooth ribbon of your voice
Fluttering against my cheek,
Whispering secrets silently.