December 2011
1 post
November 2011
7 posts
October 2011
2 posts
flocking.
i tell our stories to the leaves and hold them in
my fist balled tight
encased in skin
to never lose them i don’t let go
but gradually the color changes
i feel their death
fall between my fingers in pieces.
Each piece flutters for a second upon wind currents but falls to the ground. The first lays down and I watch it grow wings.
A blackbird. Sitting on the rooftop, I shook in your...
September 2011
3 posts
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about...
she strung her dress with stars
She strung her dress with the stars
Smeared the white blood of the moon across her chest
And she howled
She howled the storms of dreams
Turning in their sleep
The moment the wind changes and trees lose their leaves
How many limbs can bow to the ground and only whisper the demise of the stars.
I hung light from her arms and drew a line along the sole of her foot to watch the sunlight seep...
May 2011
2 posts
The Photograph
I happened upon a picture of a drowning girl
Her nails scraping against ice
White butterfly face drained of blood
At the bottom is a wish
All I hear is words
March 2011
1 post
torrents.
i love the rain here, it’s beautiful. its as if the sky is crying all the pent up tears it feels in the heartbeats of its people. the way after, everything radiates. the trees and flowers glow, the very picture of rebirth. everyone ducks into houses and under coverings. the ocean continues to flow in and out, although its at peace. the sand rises up in a mist around the lone walkers feet and...
February 2011
2 posts
we used to race slugs
lean a board against a wall
and line them up at the bottom
they’d race uphill
each of us thought ours would win
but they’d meander all over
the board
disregarding the finish line.
you reached across an ocean
your arm threaded through the clouds
you were looking for me.
i watched as you toured the skies
entered the heart of icarus
danced with the...
arkansas.
I’m going to assume you’ve heard of the sky in arkansas,
darkened by blackbirds, the ground, an apologetic
black of feathers in the wind.
it’s with lethal quills that we gut our victims
poison filled pens tattooing
the face of god upon backs in violet ink
and children scribble down
their arms in crayon
lopsided wax smiles of
families
holding hands.
among the...
January 2011
10 posts
the blackbirds lament
in arkansas.
a darkened sky of red winged blackbirds.
beating bullets rain down.
the ground an apologetic black of broken wings.
on the twenty third hour
of the three hundred and sixty fifth day
the night collapsed into itself
folding upon the dotted lines of the constellations
overlapping the bright white moon.
the body count was five thousand.
the tree branches extend away from me.
extra set of limbs. air rushes between my toes and rain puddles in the crevices of my collar bone.
i see you.
you walk towards me from the east amidst the
gaggle of three eyed geese.
they watch you.
your footprints
a steady contrail extend backwards
point to where you’ve come from.
i stand upon his eyelid
and dive
the arrow of my hands...
December 2010
16 posts
“None of the elephants blew
their trumpets this morning,
as the sun rose over...”
– foreign languages
memories.
she walked through the kitchen. feet curved reminding me of foot binding. slight pressure upon the arch and they snap. bind each with cloth to hold them in place sewing skin to skin and reshaping them to perfection. smaller. more delicate. only slow steps can be managed and lightly, as if on thin ice, as if she’s hovering just above the ground she glides through the kitchen. she pauses as...
black widow.
at the foot of my bed
your feet brush the floor
stirring the air into an ephemeral
wind
you string the mason jars
holding black widows
from the ceiling
and let one loose
I light one match
let it drop to the floor
a burning star forms around
my body
I think of the snow angels outside
beneath the telephone wires
their outlines teeming
with footprints.
please, stop torturing yourself.
1. stop thinking about it.
2. there are a lot of people that care.
3. time.
4. stop torturing yourself.
5. i hate watching your pain.
temporarilyromancingthesoul asked: not to mention is all this brilliant writing yours? if so you're incredibly talented and im following because it's all fantastic.
airplanes.
The instant faded breath intermingled with mine. Pastel lips painted history upon delicate skin. As the sky is always blue once above the clouds I revel in the edge. A dagger. Double bladed my feet rest upon the tip. I gouge the edge into my calf and blood begins to run. Flying couches cracked houses and falling children, you never fall instantly into a nightmare. There’s always the clouds...
I feel infinite, like the last person on earth.
November 2010
53 posts
it penetrates my dreams
the photograph
her face.
misshapen deformed like some
twisted metamorphosised caterpillar that
forgot what a butterfly looked like.
i hear my dogs nightmares
the constant thudding against the walls as her legs run
effortlessly created by
a landscape sculpted by the needle placed beneath her skin.
i see the aboriginal painting. the contrast of orange upon orange.
...
mother, did it need to be so high?
too much Zoloft
and alcohol emanate tears
laced with
memories
reflection pools
elven footprints intertwine through
concrete pathways
lookout points
she knows where the ocean is
the boats are in line
wind planted
a juniper bush
sage bush
rhubarb mowed over and
chopped up before
it settled upon the dinner table.
her boats set sail and sunk
a reflection pool
laced with Zoloft...
The Man in the Basement
my family’s asleep the pillow that I hid from myself lies on the floor the pond usually filled by my hair drought ridden the way when leaving the basement i sprint up the stairs knowing with every quivering inch of me that there’s a man silent as snow at the bottom always reaching for my ankles
the deadbolt turns from the inside and every light goes out. a crypt. with my toe i slide...
the big picture is simple it’s just every little fucking thing that’s excruciating.
