little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 8:23 PM UTC
when it’s quiet
my mind turns the lights off
in ever room i tried to lock
it points to all the dust i haven’t touched,
all the pieces of me i swore i’d fix someday
i don’t want peace
if it comes dressed as silence
i want the kind that feels like laughter
bleeding through my brains thin walls
like being held by a room
that isn’t even looking at me.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 8:15 PM UTC
Stumble. Tred. Trip.
Sachel and mail.
Wind, rain, downpour,
100 degrees, 30 below,
blizzard, sleet, tornado, or shine.
Six hours or less.
Light days, heavey days.
Large pieces, small pieces.
On the arm.
or in the palm
Bills, ads, and letters.
Six hours or less
Boxes, tubes. Paper bound
and plastic wrapped packages.
Some you carry in your satchel.
The heavey and large ones
you unload at the curb.
Six hours or less.
Sometimes it takes five hours.
Sometimes 12.
The better you become,
the faster you become,
the lower your check.
Six hours or less.
Sometimes a supe walks
with you. Watching.
Paper and pen.
The boss, the bosses above the bosses,
their bosses, and their bosses
want it to be done.
Six hours or less.
You call in.
Illness, car wreck, blown tire,
snow, kids in the hospital.
It don’t matter.
The boss deals out your streeets.
The mail must be delivered.
They want it to be done…
in…
six hours or less
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 8:52 PM UTC
Here I sit
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I withdraw
a small, worn,
green New Testiment
from the
right, hind
pocket
of my
pink jeans.
I open it
and
rip the last
page out.
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I reach into
my yellow
hoody
breast pocket
and pull
out a
bag.
I open it
and pinch
out some
green and
purple
buds.
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I break up
the buds
and
rip a
square from
the Testiment page.
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I crease
the Testiment page
and sprinkle
into it
broken buds.
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I press the
broken buds
and roll
the Testiment page
around them.
lick the top,
and
pinch the tips.
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I reach into
my pink jeans
right front pocket
and withdraw a
green lighter.
I flick it.
A flame grows.
Upon a forgotten table.
where mold and lichen grow.
I ignite
the Testiment page.
A flame grows
and fades.
I inhale
and smile.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 8:14 PM UTC