I have emotions
that are like newspapers that
read themselves.
I go for days at a time
trapped in the want ads.
I feel as if I am an ad
for the sale of a haunted house:
18 rooms
$37,000
I’m yours
ghosts and all.
- Richard Brautigan
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
You see, my dear,
the world is
a kaleidoscope
of desires
and you’re just
a little blue dot
on the inside,
looking out.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
smoke lazily climbing up
from your cigarette,
you mindlessly gaze across the table.
our eyes meet;
the misplaced spark jumps
from the green plastic
in your hand.
"we are simply caught between
the greedy hunger of
yes yes yes
and the bitter pinpricks of
no no no,"
you tell me.
i sound my response
with an invented cough;
the waiter
puts it out
with a frosty
glass of water.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Today,
I place my head in my hands.
I feel the weight of
crushing black
held back by
delicate dams,
the flicking
of thoughts
against my palms,
the ebb and flow
of heat on my wrists.
I am alive.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
At the wake of this tragedy,
you can’t tell the difference.
Cancer? Infection? Sadness? Bullets?
Ask the mother; she knows.
In the wake of this tragedy,
you can taste the difference.
Our people die this way.
Your people die that way.
The Berlin Wall may be
black and white,
but tears
are as clear as day.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
The god of present tense
pushed the river along,
past the naked trees
and the quiet leaves
and the washed out trail
while
his sister sun
poured streams of
warm bright over it all.
"winter isn’t death,"
she said.
"winter is waiting."
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
You are shore
and I am sea.
Our constant
divergence,
can’t you
see?
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
I have always been the teacher,
never the taught.
I understood how to silence
slammed cabinets and
cries of infidelity
with my hands
before they were big enough
to cover your ears.
I burned all
of my books
so that you never had to learn.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Please listen to me
because I am too and I understand.
Your tears are waves that
washed you out with ache;
the ocean doesn’t know
what it has done.
Honey. Dear. Sweet.
Put it away. Place it gently in the box
that God has given to every little girl
before she realizes her purpose
where she may keep her darkness quiet.
Darling, do not hesitate;
do not be afraid.
It locks without a key
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
What would the world look like
if thoughts poured
through fingertips,
imprinting secrets on
window panes
dinner tables
library books
her arms
your back
I wonder.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC