Photo Challenge #299 “Alive”


– Araki Photograph Studio


Your voice spills through my scars

as if they were veins and all that darkness

rendered feral and inert is galvanized

by the light of your smile.

It is in the act of loving you that I feel most alive.

So if you’d let me I’d take you in edges and all.


Wordle #164


She is the accoutrement of a cage

clasped irrespective of occasion.

I carry her pale, tremulous fist

aggrieved by the imperatives of war

in my sacrum as if I were a basin.

She is sacred, rareified water,

the salt that signifies entanglement.


She clusters at the end of my pen

the perfect cheat, the myomane

with a heart the shape of a strawberry.

Her wide grin swivels and floats away.

I sew her runaway feathers into my back.

To know freedom is to love

with the lightest touch possible.

the first half is from an older poem and I continued it

Storms of Necessity



There is something inconsolable

about immortality the way it accelerates

the death of all that we hold dear.

There is something oppressive

about the sky when it remains too long unbroken.

There is such a thing as storms of necessity.


Our broken hearts are invaluable,

for it is only when we risk breach

that we can truly love.


We do not want happiness everlasting,

but a passion worthy of revolution.

Straight lines are indicative of death

and perfection is a waste

of a perfectly good personality.


This moment, full of unexpressed gratitude,

is not an intermission

it is and forever will be the truth.

This is also an edit from an older poem. I am extremely stressed at the moment. Something came up last minute and it is pulling my attention hence my distracted writing. I will probably have to rework anything I work on now due to choppiness but I am still getting a fe





They say that lust is antecedent to love.

If true then it is not my heart

that is wounded but my ego.

By that logic I should be able

to find a substitute for you.

Yet you continue to occupy me

day and night the way that rain

makes a home for itself in every hollow.


A choice never seems as such

the moment it is finalized.

I could wait but waiting

feels a lot like penance.

Sometimes patience

leads to obsession.


I didn’t die the way I planned.

The chains were too thick,

the armor too heavy

and for all my inventions

never once did I think a door

would serve a purpose

other than invasion.


My heart is a well

and every night

I reach into her depths

in search of water

to quench my thirst

but there is only

so much blood

one person can drink.


You were supposed to love me.

Not because I willed it

but because I gave you an invitation.

How can I follow you now knowing

that I am just another shadow

dragging behind your back?

I saw this in my list of poems to edit but I could not find the original in its entirety. You might recognize some lines from it.



Sharon McCutcheon

I had a dream about you last night

in which I felt your presence

wring the air from my lungs

like wet laundry.

Your smile was so tight

that it split my heart

right down the middle.


I tumbled backwards onto the bed

and you fell upon me like a wave,

invisible, implacable, inchoate.

I called your name and received no answer,

but you were definitely there.


I felt as if I had touched

something forbidden inside of you,

as if your name had unleashed

something forbidden inside of me.

Against me you lie shut as a door

and I opened again and again

just to hear the creak in your bones.


I find your eyes rise into being

at the strangest times

and in each instance

another piece of my soul

is taken hostage.

If I keep breathing your air

I will forget how to breathe on my own.


When it comes to you

I don’t know what to do with myself.


Ocean Sky Nature Clouds Sea Wallpaper For Iphone

I want to empty my entire vocabulary
into your beautiful, heart-shaped mouth.
I want to feel your soul weightless
and interspersed like a dream
throughout my metaphorical darkness.

I slide you half-undressed
across my reverential palate
drinking of your punctuation,
of your intermittent breath
finding new ways to fill
and expand your margins.

If your tongue should make skeins
of my thoughts and leave me
uprooted and untethered
I would fashion of your enigma
a satellite and let your gravity
toss me to and fro like a storm.

On February 1st I will be featured in Spillwords!

Another Life


Juan Davila


I wonder if your lips taste of the stars

as they fold in and out of an ether-laden chrysalis.

If I could kiss you, I would kiss you

until our pulses collapsed on top of each other,

until the only shape your supple limbs could compose

was the outline of my body in juxtaposition.


I want to fill my dreams with you,

to find your eyes gazing back at me

through a tremulous darkness.

We could make love with our souls out in the open

and our hearts naked as sunlight.

We could make love in the recesses of our psyches

free of affectation, in a place where magic is still magic.


If my life were truly my own you would be ubiquitous.

I would sink into your horizon each night.

our auras so concentrated, so unanimous 

in their occupations that our seams would overlap.


If only it were as simple as calling your name.

A name which I adore.

A name which I whisper alone in my room

until it lodges in my throat like a heartbeat.


It’s true that one can feel a connection 

even in isolation, that they can happen 

upon a face in a crowd and find in it memories 

that have not yet been assigned. 

Perhaps we knew each other in another life.


Runaway With Me

I watch you clawing
the corners out of the room
and the space opens
curved and white
like a China teacup.

Each step I take draws me
closer to the center
and to you with your myriad eyes.
I watch you, watching me.
We linger a long while
and although we don’t touch
my body grows warmer.

Your smile seizes my heart.
and in one grand gesture
plucks out the woolen stitches
which give it shape and dimension.
Each lobe unravels and falls flat.
You place your own heart on top
gathering up the loose folds
into a makeshift bag.
You are the substance in me.

We huddle together
staccato and pale
like two landlocked ghosts.
Pressing secrets into each other
with tremulous lips and hands;
we speak and listen in a room
full of white noise and stark, windowless faces.
Now that it has come to this
we might as well run away together.

ran out of time



When you enter all the shadows march
single file out of the room
and the pressure inside of me
increases exponentially.

You walk over and I can see in your eyes
that you don’t see anyone else.
You clasp both of both my hands
in one of yours and I can just intuit your scent.

All that anyone can see is your shell-shocked mouth
trembling against my ear like a lunatic moth cauterizing
its broken libido over a comma-shaped flame.
I can feel in each ancillary caress an intimacy
which speaks of lifetimes shared and renewed.

We have only just met and yet I can’t keep my heart off of you.

(I am struggling with writing today. I have a lot to do with the book just now. Also I will be going to Paris in a few months for a mini vacation. I am trying to learn a little French in preparation. I am extremely excited!)



In me you see only a passionless epitaph

shucking shadows on a cracked concrete altar.

I can’t bare to be thought ordinary, least of all by you.


My thoughts are drowned out by your nails

against my heart, by the squeal of blood

as you tighten the stitches holding me in place.


There is no fire in your roots, no fertile underbelly

ripe for admonishment. If you were less immaculate

we might still collapse together in giddy agitation.


Your hands seek only to domesticate.

I make of your ashes and tears a rosary

but my prayers remain sullen and unrequited.