Wordle #259


My fingers twist,
a plait of moonlight,
a page grilling in an open fire.

My flowerless family
does not sing to me
and if I could I would remember everything,
remember the pain until
it ceased to grieve me.

A train bellows in the distance
shaking loose my bones
and in my heart I run alongside it,
unfettered and certain of what
it means to cross the finish line.

I did not ask for this
but with my very own heart
I have fashioned each response.
I have often been mistaken
but to revisit those check points again
would only spoil the life
I have come so desperately to love.

We are never okay,
but that in itself is alright,
who wants to stand on ceremony?
To be is to cease,
one must become again and again
until there is nothing left
but to advance.


Wordle #258


Let’s harvest each other like the tides
scrapping the dregs, the filaments
of souls swaddled to death.

The smell of branches bifurcated,
of bodies intimately spun.
I trip over eventualities
two meters deep.

I call to you with a look,
the first of many votes cast.
You give me, you get me
your everything but and all besides.

Wordle #119 “July 25th, 2016”

Week 119

My words fidget-
a resonance so shrill
it continuously escapes me-
like damselflies careening
over bitter pools.

My heart is a skiff
chasing storm-tinctured skylines.
Its vacancies easily doused
I fight for breath underwater.

I have a knack for anechdoche,
for transmigration but wherever I go
it is to that same backlit frame that I return,
a motherless fetus exhumed.

The damage is mostly internal.
Eternal, I propagate my faults
though the addition
only serves to diminish.

Where do I even begin. I am having trouble facing certain realities/situations and I have sort of shut down emotionally which is making writing difficult. Also because I have been writing less frequently I am feeling uncertain and out of sync.

Wordle #118

Week 118

It is not I you seek
but whom
to whom do you belong?
Can one exist
within the boundaries
of a construct?

You regale me with silence,
ever-evasive I struggle
to pluck the scab of presentiment
from my wounded heart.
I suffer therefore I scream.

Once residual, once removed.
I strip the dahlias
from Methuselah’s grave
they are dust now
pathless motes ungovernable
by human hands.

I plead the fourth,
make me the exception
the barkeep with an eye patch
and a sneer ear to ear
like antlers above a mantel.

I am not evil, I am angle-less,
a bowl of soup warm as an enigma
and wholly unpalatable.

Wordle #117 “July 11th, 2016”

Week 117

Spin me off like a turnstile,
that I may enter just as I began,
benign and free of trickery.

Oh stars, ephemerids
of the deep black
grant me destruction,
that I may bribe
that lover of mine
for just a moment longer.

In the chamber of your arms,
in the ambisinister shiver of plush
and paranoia I stall narrow as a glance.

Is this itch a secret worth telling
or is it only a sneeze,
a dream, a cup of dice discarded?

(unrelated to the above poem. For the last week I have been taking care of 2 female guinea pigs in their owner’s absence. I have 1 more week left. Honestly, it is taking a lot more of my time then I expected. I am enjoying their company very much, they are ridiculously cute/sweet. Whenever I take care of animals I am a little OCD. I pick them food fresh from outside whenever possible, I buy them the most nutritious veggies I can get my hands on. I study about their behavior so I can interact with them. I study extensively about their nutritional needs so that I can provide them with the best possible diet. When I had birds my god they ate better than the humans, I handmade all their toys out of non toxic materials, I bought them the biggest cage I could afford, floor to ceiling for 3 parakeets. This is partly why I don’t have my own pets. Having pets just really triggers my sense of responsibility more so with pets than kids. I was like that when Isadora was a baby though I handmade all our cleaners, spent hours researching hygiene products and making them by hand, she only ate organic, no sugar, the best. Because as a baby she couldn’t make choices for herself (she had some preferences of course), I was responsible and now she is older and has more choices but for pets you are always making those choices for them. They are innocent so I feel I owe it to them to do right by them.)

Whirligig 7

7 whirl

The sun rushes forth,
prodigal and full of longing.
I inhale cotton and exhale rain,
the whole world deadened to a smear.

My hands are like sandpaper
too coarse for drowning.
They pluck and scatter
crippled by their own identity.

If you listen hard enough
you can hear the gravel roar.
We find each other
in the strangest places
but never where it counts.

I treasure you,
a self-effacing scandal,
a grieving tide
displaced by wreckage.
We learn in failing.
I enter and exit the tavern alone.

Wordle #255


A corridor of silk panels,
of crosses riding the divots and contours
of a self-righteous end.
She tears the ground from beneath my feet
as if it were a veil and it is only a veil.

Her eyes burn through rendition,
lady-like and avaricious
she licks the stars,
indifferent to sublimation.
Every word is an order,
a mandate more abstruse in execution.

She is right enough
to justify any breach of character.
The plants in the windows
have perished in drought.
I snap their withered
stalks between my fingers,
there’s not even enough
water left to surmise.

(I am still in a funk!)

Whirligig 6

6 Whirl.jpg

Feeble and pestilent
I surrender my hollows,
my breath, my mysticism.
I will not apologize
for making a gift of your smile.

My purple skirt skims the breeze
twenty and filled with consolatory guile
my head hangs like an overladen donkey.
Ignorance is not a explanation
only an avenue to armistice.
(Why can’t you forgive?)

Southward and counting
who will claim me now
that I have abandoned everything?
My soiled hands lean,
an earthenware heart,
a conspicuous fracture
injustice is offensively swift.

I am pretty distracted these days and everything feels like a rough draft

Whirligig 5

5 Whirl.jpg

I tear the clothes from your body,
the honey from your smile.
A kiss is never just a means
to an elemental end.

We assemble like bells
in rooms level with heaven.
I tire of your voice,
of your questions all in rows.

We deny each other
the simplest openings,
the vaguest concessions.
How far must we travel
before we seek a sense of home?

To know love
we must speak in Latin,
for only death can grasp
what life in her avidity stores.

Wordle #116

Week 116

A string of staccato vowels,
a coterie of fireworks, a protean waltz
churning beneath my left breast pocket
like so many precipitous waves.
I wilt under observation,
there are too many eyes
in this room and I cannot
answer them without forgetting myself.

I am a dummy, a trampled wallflower
peeling my spine-prim as a starched collar-
from the shell of a walnut.
I would do anything
to avoid the strop, the proboscis,
the razor-tongued princesses
deadening in their conceit.

I am a well no deeper than a thimble
what I lack cannot be embellished,
what I possess is scarcely worth mimicry.
The stars lie down for me,
they beget me, how can I go on
wasting chance after chance
in the preservation of illusion?