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At the End
They will pick apart your life with tiny sharpened forks and throw away the ugly pieces…
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On Waking Early
In this time of tiny creatures hands like pale spider legs trapped in amber, I find my breath is not my own, my melted skin has fused with his and there is one cell screaming for another every inch the sun breaks in he holds on tighter “mine,” he says muddy-voiced with sleep A year…
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four seventeen
i ravage his treasure steal from the dreams he keeps locked inside his simmering head written out longhand, his sharp letters a path to the stars night, darker than the furthest corner from the sun and i am nightmares raging, waking out of breath unable to speak with my own voice unable to see with…
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selfish.
i said, in my sleep, i want everything whispered, face turned away from the sleeping back beside me i took it back almost immediately just in case my voice might have carried kept inside the selfish bits wander loose from time to time wanting everything always to be the only thing my system of belief…
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2.13 in the morning, 2.13.
what if i’ve forgotten how to sleep and all i’ll ever do it sit here with my eyes burnt out and my skull cracked from the pressure of my brain trying to escape and hide someplace warm and safe where there aren’t any bugs or verbs or thoughts what if, for that matter, all of…
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End of November
you can’t make this stuff up (i mean you could with a little imagination and if you drank just the right amount of cheap, cold beer before you settled in to think but it wouldn’t be real then and this is) -as real as it gets without shoving over to the other side where it…
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on believing that a funk has been defeated
driving down the road reading shit poetry and accidentally singing a few off-key notes for the first time ever in front of him i knew that life was good and the next day one blink, one word that wasn’t said one caught breath sent me face-first under the covers, sent me into the dark, silent…
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more meandering; 81912
russian spiced tea with a splash of milk and too much sugar, rickie lee is tinny through the speakers here, but i am too lazy to move six inches and put a record on. i wish it was raining (it just started raining as i typed that- oddly enough) babes tucked into cozy beds and…
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Untitled Insomniac Meandering
we are here and it could be that life has slowed or even stopped for a minute or seven or a million; you know how we are about time. last night we laughed, arguing about whether or not it was possible to lose a measure of time circled thoughts like children on tricycles in half-safe…
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April Fox 