Friday, November 28, 2008


A changeling taking place, stonepiece,
lovepiece they all fit together under the guise 
of the perfect interview, the flawless
nature of their curves and apertures. 

Seventy-eight pages of emotion there bonded
with string, together on paper. Bind them up,
yellow room in the morning, you (the one) there asleep
in the bed, the lumps of your body just 
under the sheet, separating us for eternity. 

Our bruised Hearts communicate in a
morse code (lovers language), staccato 
beats through the open air. We are laid
off Lovers, a skill for which there is no
open position.  

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

It was so quiet they could only hear their hearts. 

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Monday, November 24, 2008

Lady Mantis

She will swallow the weak ones. 
Their heads will
crush under the muscles of her throat, the
Bones splintering and rubbing together like
two pieces of a broken plate, dry agony.

At night, she will crawl into their sleeping
rooms and chew the ends of their fingers, One
by every last one until the nubs are left, wordless
they can produce no writing. 


Autumn is stuck; deep in the
mud of your self-righteousness. Please
free it and allow it to color back the branches
giving way to bare tree trunks. So then
Winter can blanket with white,
Pure air. 

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Louise Grandmother; Thanksgiving

I can remember the way she would suck
Her teeth after family meal. Tiny slivers of light
between each tooth just large enough to pull air
and casserole through. 

The cold yellowed corners of the room, harsh
right angles pierce her supple body curving
there among the fluorescent lighting, flickering
through the fan. 

She wrote, with slanted perfection, the birthdays
of her grandchildren on each corresponding 
square of her calendars; the year of aging
planned out. 

She kept nearly everything, preserved in clear plastic
baggies; gold plated social security cards, authenticity
certificates, greeting cards and letters written on 
lined notebook paper. Cleaning out her house was like
rummaging through the basement of an old
American Museum, the dust of life covering 
bunches of fake flowers, 8 track tapes, thinning
handkerchiefs and her unused lotion bottles. 

Her feeble legs had stopped walking. I can see her
placing her wrinkled hand upon her thigh
to Brace, up the bricked stairs. She'd make it into
the kitchen and open her arms wide, her entrance
we all waited for and ceremoniously stood up from
our respective couches to kiss her on the cheek, welcoming
her back from the dead of old age. 

This is the first day of giving thanks without her. 
No more worrying about her working left hand
bumping up against mine as we muse over the taste
and saltiness of the meal. We don't get to listen to her
talk about how much her mother loved yeast rolls. We
will sit around tables mutually feeling the loss, the gaping
hole of our ancient left-hander. Our matriarch, nothing
but our words willing her back into life. 

Louise Grandmother

Her body lies underneath the wet grass 
of the fall, slightly fading away in the silking 
satin of the box she had picked out. 
Her white hair dulling against the brilliance of her decay. 

She's got no eyes now; only the fake filling her sockets.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

You feel that? The way she sounds when she answers your calls. The warming when she answers your questions in just the right way, playful and cool- the same questions you asked me when we were dating used to tag another.
Make up something else to dance to. Create some other reality that doesn't involve me sitting on our make believe front porch. Go and I charge you, even, to throw around Dears and Darlings to entice her to remember you loved her, to live in both of their crumbling worlds.

Monday, November 17, 2008

I must write entirely for you. Whenever I see the words pour out onto the page, I picture your eyes scanning across them. The sweat from your fingers gently smearing the ink of the words near the edge of the paper. The index and middle finger moving their way down until they find the end and a smile upon your lips. You can look up to mine and find them crying, because you have been moved so. 

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Fluffiness separates me from you. There are times when I believe I can walk to you and you would rub my thumbs with yours. You could grab my heart and squeeze out the hurt, trickling down your jacket, soaked. Drips of anguish shared between your broken heart and mine. Words barely passing among us, but we share drinks in glasses that allow me to become her to you, hands pressed tightly around arms clothed in hoodies and half smiles. 

Saturday, November 15, 2008


Let's go ride swings together; take them
up until our shoes point toward the sky and
we see nothing but by the pendulum movement of
the Earth rushing before our eyes. Yellows of leaves
and the tan dirt underneath, glimpses of dying grass
and chubby children's faces wrapped in knitted scarves.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

 Please remember me happily. Don't let yourself justify your hatred or the time when all you could see was tears. Don't mistake our past with her future, his present. I recognize nobody on the street, strangers to our friendship. Our children lay ungrown together, there stunted by my idea of independence. 
He always closes his eyes, until last night he was shaken awake with fear, He had hurt someone laying close to him. What happens when You find Your bodies close to each other, shaking and sticking  as your breath, heavy, in and out. How do we find ourselves in positions almost impossible to rip away from. He lies in my bed with his hands in His hair, twisting it back until he can remember a time when he wasn't this. A cheat. Or open to love in a way His body has never felt. And she, left in the wake of his passing through, finds herself surrounded with him. Controlled by his aloe lips and dew eyes. The last time, the way it will not end, They were the only people on the world having that moment. The light shone onto her hip bones where his face was firmly planted into her. He promised her that it would not end this way. Accidently crossing some imaginary love line and leaving her in near tears about what she was tearing apart in herself. He grabs the skin about her face and kisses her lips one last time before leaving, again, the squeaking door signaling his exit into the parking lot and to his car, to his friends house and to a distracted sleep. 

I've entered a kingdom, His world, half mine- entirely Hers. He's come inside of me and rested there, wept, and rubbed his face until it was gone. 

We didn't mean to trip and fall. I look at Him in the corner of the room and he looks back at me, staring out through eyes that have seen me half nude in the streetlights through the window. We both wear red today. Wear red to make blue. Put on yellow to make light. Wear nothing to have love. 

A bleeding, weeping heart consumes Their actions if they let it. If they hold true to how they started on this intimate journey, then they are lovers, eternally. Or they could allow the mundane thoughts of others infiltrate what They hold dear, the uncomfortableness of multiple lovers in one heart. Did he say that he loved Her last night? She thinks that she remembers him screaming it through his teeth as he pulled Her under her own sheets. The fabric falls from the ceiling and all around them until a mutual accidental orgasm. 

Coins litter Her room. Tiny reminders of where He has sat and snuggled. The couch. The bed. In the bathroom and around the floor. Quarters and pennies stuck in time, the most beautiful fleeting ship of skin and hair sinking into his car and driving away.

Fishy Eyes

For more see Flickr; Re: Fishy Eyes!

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

New York Schitty

For more see Flickr site; Re: New York Schitty

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

He looked to me; you smell familiar he said.
I can't imagine his lips on hers. Both full embrace. He will smell her neck and put his hands on her back. Tears fall gently onto her shoulders. His eyes betray her. Confessing nothing; They say, I'm so glad to know you exist. I'm happy to see your future laid out before you like a fresh sheet cake, uncut with pink rose petals of icing in the corners. Save those for later and lick the candles after burning. The small folds of pink sugar. 

Yes he was here this morning. She can still smell him on the sheets. Her index finger on his nose as he kissed her palm, stuck there for a moment, air left his lungs, his eyes stayed closed. His neck curved back, my hand on his forehead to steady the storm inside his head. 

If you see him today, casual like you only speak and he will whistle at you, only she can hear. He winks, only she sees. He will stare at you, burning a hole through your skin. Your elbows. Your knees. The backs of your ankles. Sometimes your eyes. He looks sad, but content knowing he's been with her now. His leaving is a curious way for him to love. 

upon our first meeting, you will move your eyes all around my face: each curve, each pore.