Catching On

Her puckered lips chase

I turn my head to the left

She snags my cheek and a blush


One day I’ll marry

That girl but today I’m just

A boy catching cooties, yuck!


BJ’s Shadorma and Beyond


We were asked to write a sedoka and I kind of sort of did. This is different than my usual fodder but sometimes I need to strip down and simplify



A smile like double-sided tape

She was not someone with whom

You could shed your confidences

Her lips linger too close to the ear

She has a hunger for secrets.


From my breast pocket she lifts

A bloodied wedge and tilts her head

Throat like a threshing machine

The mangled retelling incites mutiny

My boots rap the pavement

But hell will not have me yet.


Her bare anemic eye loiters

In the cleft that housed my ego

I have a knack for pathos

A way of expiring publicly

Throwing up shadows

Like a wax phallus

A way of sculpting tears

Into fetish, of immortalizing

The precise instant

Of my banishment.


No one ever forgets

Their first murder

(I am not the first)

And I will not go

With a hiss

Tragic but flimsy

As a child’s preposterous wish

But with a great cackle

A paroxysm of hexes

Absurd and inexcusable

I can make a cocoon of anything

Even an eyelash should suffice.


Misery that you are,

I cannot occupy your flesh

The crumbs that you have laid

Are an obstruction of passage

I will not live in the archetype

That you have blessed,

In the multi-socketed sea

Of sodium and sulfuric ash

Within a hell not wrought

By my own misconceptions.

If I must suffer better

That I relish the source.


A short one high physical pain day

Death Seed

The pain is no less when I smile

Though it is necessary some days

To be “just fine” whatever the case.

I peel your scent from my flesh

No matter how oft I wash the canvas

The blood remains embedded in its fibers

A penitentiary embellished in red

This body with its surplus of DNA

This meager body which serves

A nightlight in the darkest rooms.


Even art hurts when you are the source

A nightmare from which I do not wake

A nightmare the body fuels and circulates

You are the seed of death within me

The call to war that drives me to annihilate

I will not see you again, not even in the finale.

That your ghost should cling to my grief

Is a threat that I can not endure.

Signed “To the Devil with Love”

Sheep Control Pawel Kuczynski 36
Pawel Kuczynski

They line up single file, pockets stitched, pupils blown.


The particulars are a sphinx without resolution.

An X mutes alternative, dims hearts when leeched.


They slit their throats on dollar bills,

On dreams not worth their weight in confidence

Becoming less with every meaningless acquisition.


I generally like to try a new form twice. This form is fun, no rhyme or meter!

Written for


Week 36

If only the depth of my love were effable.


A chasm etched by a perpetual fall

An orchid sustained on plasma and neglect


I sway in the susurrus of your erect halo

In the helical persuasion of your copper roots

A bijou in the hands of a ruthless merchant.


This is my first attempt at a Cherita (a completely new form to me actually) and I decided to combine it with this week’s Wordle which is just madness but I managed to work all the words in. My story is a little abstract but if you have ever read any of my stories they are abstract. In the simplest terms it is about a woman who is seen as a possession, She knows that she might be traded in and that she is not loved but she’s gotten herself in too deep. This is fictional.


Bj’s Shadorma and Beyond



Erotic captives,

Your eyes burn an interstice

Through my wayward soul

(A short one due to yesterday’s events. In this I am speaking of the first look when you connect and melt into another person and you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightening, that first look is very intimate, invasive, and erotic.)

Winter Shadorma

Cast aside

These infamous plumes

This sly tongue

These windows

Grey as a priest’s cosmic fire

We’ve fought long enough.


A battle

Of will and instinct

A template

A tyrant

An omen that vitiates

Its bundled tenets



Rape the scenery

Fixed and white

Cold and meek

Winter begets bereavement

The whole world, a grave.


On a random unrelated note it is my FIL’s 70th birthday so we have a number of things planned for today so I will be away. I am not sure how it will go yet seeing as Sam and I are sick.

keep your coat on

I debated fiercely with myself today. Should I write? Should I post?

Yesterday I had a therapy session. So far we’ve only worked on relaxation techniques. I find relaxation unsettling, particularly in the company of other humanoids. Lowering my guard leaves me damn right paranoid and so even before the sessions begin I am worked up (it’s the expectation of exposure). We started out playing instruments, my therapist specializes in musical therapy and trauma. I have no musical sensibilities whatsoever, no sense of rhythm but I do like music just the same. I chose the Marimba. I felt a mix of emotions seething insecurity and childish wonder/joy were the top two. I found that I lost focus quite a bit and whenever I did I could tell because the notes became muddied and I lost whatever tune I had concocted. The therapist accompanied me using an African drum and whenever I listened to her playing I instantly forgot what I was doing and my hands became utterly alien to me.

After the music session I had to write a time line. We started with the first five years of my life. The first five years were very difficult and even though I was told not to give too much detail about the events it is impossible to speak of those years without mentioning trauma. Many of my early childhood memories are negative, so negative that even the positive memories make me queasy.

The therapist asked me if there were any positive figures who were predominant in my life. I found that a difficult question to answer. I do have relatives that are sane and kind but I spent very little time with them. I was able to think of one person though, a younger cousin. Growing up she was my closest friend, a kind of surrogate sister if you will. I’ll call her S for sister. S was born with a birth defect, a dangerous black growth on the back of her head. She had surgery after surgery after surgery growing up. She was horrifyingly thin, like the children on charity commercials, just bones with a canvas of thin delicate flesh, almost like a spider’s silk. She got sick often. She had chronic headaches. She was bullied mercilessly for her partially bald misshapen head. She stood up for herself and made friends. She was a very happy, affectionate child. She was innocence personified. She is my hero. Because of her condition she will always be at a high risk for tumors and has in her adult life dealt with her share of cancer scares and chemotherapy. She is tough and I don’t mean hard, I mean she is strong and resilient. She is a very devoted mother. She is also outgoing and confident which means we are completely different.

When I was talking about her the therapist said that I am also strong but I have never found myself so. How does one define weakness? What about strength? Am I strong because I didn’t die? Because I didn’t turn to addiction? Because I am not continuing the cycle, the path my genetics and wiring would have me repeat? If that is strong I guess I am reasonably but I would not call myself a “success story” either. I have a lot of fears and while I am courageous in some respects in many others I am a total coward. I knew I shouldn’t have taken off my coat when I came into the appointment. I have been wearing my coat each time but yesterday I wore a thicker wool coat and removed it, I think it gave a false impression.

Anyways yesterday was a tough session and I am feeling fragile and hostile. I can’t even exercise because I am so nauseous from the stress. One thing I am not good at, is letting go and switching gears. Once I start to open up, I mount an attack against myself in retaliation. I get locked into some morbid obsessional loop that I can’t seem to break free of unless I perchance to have a good night’s sleep. I did not have a good night’s sleep. After the session Sam came to pick me up for lunch and my mind was all over the place. When he left I did a little shopping but I lost so much time wondering around that I was nearly late to greet my daughter from school. I called my MIL just encase I didn’t make it in time and I only barely did.

That is why I am not posting any poetry today I am feeling too vulnerable and emotional. If I do write anything today I will need to sit with it a little longer than I usually do.

(Sam is sick he’s had a high fever all night so I am going to make him stay home today.  I thought my stomach problems were stress related but since he is also having stomach problems I think we might have gotten some bug.)