a chimney once held between
two fingers lies on the pavement
head kicked in
ash spluttered
against the concrete
embers refusing to let go
of their blood orange glow
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
My father is a lion with his mane cut
and slicked back, learning to walk
on hind legs, back arched high.
~
My mother has a wolf in her chest
howling for light, for the
lantern hanging in the sky.
~
My brother has a cage
for ribs
but so do I.
~
I am a wild safari:
a bathing elephant, a sleeping
tiger, a brilliant peacock fanning its
feathers, waiting to
**** its head and release
a warrior cry.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
If the sun had hands, he’d reach out
to touch the curve of the moon’s spine, tracing
his fingers along each crater as she lit up
for him like a paper lantern
in the sky. His flamed limbs enveloping
her, his Luna. The arch of her back
against the backdrop of night, her fullness
intoxicating. After all this time, still burning for her.
When the sun was given hands, he cursed them
as he watched the moon crumble
into ash in the blaze. His hands were Rome
and he couldn’t stop the collapse, the ruins of her
scattered across his cupped palms. He prayed
to Moirai for revival, but all three gods
were silent. Choking back flames of fury, he tossed
his beloved into the black expanse, each flake still lit
with a passion to rebel the stars
that continue to burn with foolish hope.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
I wanted to be light so I swallowed the sun.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
The tangerine stained race track
spread across our **** carpet, a turn
by the wooden bed frame, a loop
near the five piece drum set.
My brother’s fingertips gripped a Hot Wheel
by its rear end, its rubber wheels
greeting the track, propelling it forward,
launching it into another plastic vehicle,
and Crash.
I nursed the toy cars through emergencies,
playing doctor to replace cracked windshields
and torn plastic bumpers, victims
of one too many collisions. It alarmed me
how easily the 1976 Mustang could lose its wheel,
sending it spinning like a dreidel while my brother grinned
with splintered teeth, feeling nothing.
The car survived the impact, but people
don’t always walk away from accidents. They can’t be raised
on jack stands and tinkered with. The operation table,
home to drivers with fluttering heartbeats,
can hum to the deafening beat of a flat-line monitor.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
My touch can start brush fires.
My fingers are ***** matchsticks,
the kind your mother warned about.
My petaled lips spark against yours
like flint against steel.
My volatile breath, an overcast of smoke
creeping from the belly of my throat.
My twisted tongue douses your chalky skin
with fuel, a gasoline spreading to your logged limbs.
I leave your organs to curdle,
and by morning glow,
you’re nothing but a burn victim.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
I think about you around the holidays,
how I’d follow the sprinkles scattered on the floor
like bright constellations guiding me to you
kneading dough on the kitchen counter.
Your dress shirt, missing a button near the pressed collar,
was painted with flour. You carried those grains of sugar
in the pocket of your fingernails for days.
The holidays aren’t the same since you left.
The wreath has shed its needles
like a rattlesnake stripping of its skin.
The Coca-Cola snow globe on the mantel has cracked,
leaking snow confetti onto the rug.
(I swear it was sobbing, too.)
Last night, I awoke to a glass ornament
dropping to the floor like a fallen angel.
I sliced my fingertip on a shard
while sweeping the remains.
I found your missing button under the tree skirt,
the only piece of you that stayed.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
Rusted trailers file in,
carrying pop-up roller coasters
and tilt-a-whirls. A tall man, face splashed
with paint, trips in oversized shoes.
His drawn lips smile, but teeth do not show.
A ferris wheel spins in the distance, time
measured in each rotation, the carnival's only clock.
Perched on a saddle, a small tot
rides a stallion, tangling her curled fingers
in its mane, cotton candy stained palms
shaking the reins. The steed chained
to a central post, muzzled in silence,
frozen like his carousel brothers.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
your arteries are wired to
sound an alarm if thieves
come to rob you of your heart
but I swiftly stole the wrinkles
on your brain so maybe you’d forget
the mole below my left eye, the
faded birthmark embedded in my left shoulder
if that makes me a criminal dress
me in tangerine, let me play
tug of war with a noose
I took a polygraph test last night, the examiner
asked if I still loved you
I whispered no but the needle painted
the cadence of your voice instead
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
My brittle skeleton has become an abandoned motel
and you
were its last visitor.
Why didn't you enjoy your stay?
I made a trail of light kisses across your forehead
like spreading mints on your pillow in the morning.
I peeled back the curtains
to let rays of light color your cheekbones
and swept your troubles underneath the wooden sofa legs.
A motel's only guests
are faint silhouettes of those passing through.
How did I believe you could be permanent?
I have cleaned every inch
of this haunted cottage,
but when I dust the mantel of my shoulder blades,
I only find your smudged fingerprints.
I cannot scrub you from my skin.
It flakes,
it scars,
but you are still embedded there.
How did I mistake touching for feeling?
A closed sign now dangles around my neck
This vacancy can never be filled.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC