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Kitt Mar 8
be not afraid as you sink into the void
for it holds no danger to you now.
the darkness that threatened is your enemy
no more.
out from the void comes a sparkling light
you have made it. you have done the impossible
and now you may rest.
Jan 31 · 334
Kitt Jan 31
i never wanted you
to drown yourself in me,
the rain woman.
drip, drip, drop.

i warned you, once upon a time
to don your heaviest boots:
rubber soles to save your soul.
drip, drip, drop.

i am lightning, burning cold
i am thunder, rolling bold
i am a sigh of agitation:
a hurricane, a summer rain
the cool wet mud, a conflagration.

i am a natural disaster
but your lips are cracked and dry
so you saw in me an oasis
drip, drip, drop.

i wanted to see the desert watered
but i never wanted you
to drown yourself in me.
Jan 18 · 265
Kitt Jan 18
don't eat the green ones,
for they bring upon sudden rain
that slicks the roads on a Q....t night

don't touch the yellow ones,
for they cause mechanisms to fail
upending lives in a matter of a moment

and for God's sake, don't taste the red ones,
for they are laced with poison
far deadlier than cyanide smoke.

hold tight to your coin, the one whose year
adds to thirteen. perhaps it will save you
from the danger of counting to three.

make no plans following your shift
for the gods of fortune do not favor the prepared
nor those who stitch their patches on too soon

you'll come to loathe the moon,
her face, shown in full, driving mad the insecure
and away the rolling lights.

no boots off until midnight,
lest you be called impertinent, and proven so
by the savior bell's ironic sense of humor

follow these rules to survive.
question not why they are told, for it is better
to wonder in safety
than to tempt the unfair Lady known as Luck.
Dec 2023 · 165
Writing in Raindrops
Kitt Dec 2023
Safe inside a bubble made of steel and glass
Sparkling with raindrops in the night’s lights
Warmth like bed, soft as a summer’s sigh wrapped in darkness
Words depart with the hitching breaths and racing hearts
Secret messages conveyed in the dew
A child’s finger-painted mural, pointing to where it hurts
The bottle inside is shaken near to combustion
The fences that have such good neighbors made
Crumble into soapy heaps
Suddenly there is no air, no breaths at all
Only the caress of a cheek, the whisper of a name
In one stolen moment, a secret yearning is given form
And outside the rain falls heavy and cool,
Promising respite from the confusion swirling inside,
The gift of the sky washing away any uncertainty.
But none comes. Outside the storm rages the same as within.
Soon the sun will rise, and perhaps
all will be made clear in the light of morning.
Oct 2023 · 528
Kitt Oct 2023
the dream was sweet,
but it has ended.
and now I will not suffer this failure
and rejection
to thicken into a nightmare

I will wake up.
and the day will be brighter,
lit by candles held in vigil
by those whose arms are held open
to thaw me against warm hearts.

I will leave the cozy darkness of night
the blindness of the eve
to venture bravely into the briskness
of the morning,
wiping dew from the window
and embracing whatever storms
the new day should bring,
sheltered by umbrellas
held by those who care.
SG, EK, and GR
Sep 2023 · 293
the day after.
Kitt Sep 2023
Somewhere in town,
a dog licks at the hand of a child.
a man with no shirt plays hacky-sack alone
The stalwart city has come crashing to her knees,
and so against his own he kicks the bag
again and again
as if he could raise the razed ground
with the power of a child's game.


By a fountain on the curb
men with long hair and guitars sing together,
only strangers before today.
a woman who saw someone
gasping in vain for smokeless breath
inhales deeply from a cigarette.
A saxophone sings out sweet and low,
his melancholy tune sung
for everyone who can only hear
the screams, long gone silent save for in memory,
where they pierce as loud as sirens.

a boy walks to the movies with his mom
and asks her what the sign says.
she reads to him:


and, baffled, he cannot understand why
a free movie
and a sugary drink
and a tub of popcorn
brings his seamless mother to tears.
Sep 2023 · 283
Kitt Sep 2023
I have never feared death
though it lurks round every bend
nor do I fear spiders
or snakes
or things that go
in the night.

I do not fear investments
without returns,
for the investing is worthwhile
in itself.

I do not fear rejection,
nor heartache,
nor pain.
For all three I have experienced
and never have they won.

but you must fear something,
the fates proclaim. for a life without fear
is unbalanced,
and they do not permit their loom
to stretch without give,
nor give without take.

So what is it I fear?
What, or whom, lies in my shadowy nightmares
when I lie awake and dreamless
tossing in the sheets
and plaintively crying out
with nobody to hear?

For when the day comes
with a hand to collect,
I may not have anything to give.
my heart, my flesh, my soul
may be too frail
to pass between us.

That is what I fear.
Not the darkness of the night,
but the soul left wandering
waiting for something
I could never give.
Sep 2023 · 500
Time Made
Kitt Sep 2023
it's the most valuable resource, they say:
there's a time to be born and a time to die.
what you do in that in-between space
will your entire existence define.
so spend it wisely, lest you desist
with nothing of value left to exist.

so when you make time to read the rhymes,
when you leave notes between the lines
that means more than words softly spoken--
more than any tangible token--
to know that I am worth precious time.
For GR, who always makes time.
Sep 2023 · 3.6k
Kitt Sep 2023
Somewhere between eggshells and landmines
Were the creaking floors upon which I played
Carefully, for her wrath could be detonated
At a footfall, just a bit too heavy
From a word uttered under the breath
A mess left too long in the sink.

But her embrace was warm,
Wrapping around me like sheets from the dryer
And when she put on pause her own life
To tend to me at my sick-bed,
Her eyes showed only tender love.
“My baby goat,” she would say, affectionately,
And leave a kiss upon my feverish brow.

She is a living contradiction, my mother:
Churning disapproval shattering the gleam
That she put into the hopeful eyes of a child
Just a moment before.
I lived in perpetual uncertainty,
Never knowing which mother I might see next:
The raven or the hen.

And now she looks at me with disappointment,
Wondering aloud why her children fear her.
Her capriciousness eroded away any trust
And much of the fondness as well
Her hot-blooded adoration
And her ice-cold tantrums
Have mixed so long now
All that is left is
Lukewarm like the bathwater
Left over from when the
Baby was thrown out.
Sep 2023 · 215
Did Her Mother Know
Kitt Sep 2023
When Charlotte Haze allowed into her home
A monster in unassuming white linen pajamas
Could she have known what he would do
To her daisy-fresh girl, lying among the lilies?

As she bathed in sunshine on the golden shores
Of Hourglass Lake, could she have known
Where his mind was, with the child sent away
Nuptial solitude invaded by his maddened obsession?

Before Mrs. Haze-Humbert left the world,
She found the confession he wrote on silk ribbons
Meant to tie around her neck and then the child’s hair--
Yet her first concern was of how she had been betrayed.

As Charlotte lay dying on the hot concrete
Did she wonder if she might have seen it coming--
Her demise, foretold by his fantasies
Of violence towards her, of brutality for the child?

Which her last thoughts cast towards:
The orphan she now left behind?
Or her own aching heart,
Torn with jealous rage between her love of the girl
And the infidelity of a husband gone astray?
Sep 2023 · 439
Kitt Sep 2023
I turned my attention to the water, and I was suddenly struck by the immensity of everything.
“The world is so big,” I said aloud,
more to myself than to him.
He nodded, but I couldn’t shake
the feeling that he just didn’t get what I was saying.
I didn’t mean, “the world is big.”
I wasn’t talking about the vastness of the seas’ endless waters
or the sheer size of the globe we walked on.
I was talking about the infinite
nature of the world, how it was stuffed full
of corners and niches that I would never see.
I imagined all of the homes, filled with love, with shame, with something
in between.
A bee, circumnavigating the area around a wilting tulip.
The involuntary wringing of a grandmother’s hands during tense moments.
A boy practicing violin.
A wedding, a birth, another wedding, a death, a funeral, and the continuation
of life around the hole left by the dead
until the cycle continued so much that the hole was filled.
I imagined the ports where ships docked and ******* between voyages, the cobblestone streets of French towns and the mountainous landscapes of the past.
I pictured dogs, scratching on fences, and a girl
brushing her hair by an open window.
I saw the corners and pockets of life, shared with the world
or kept to oneself. The gaps behind stoves,
the crannies seen only by blind mice and frightened roaches,
the dark tunnels beneath the earth. I saw in a flash the water parks where children played,
the quiet moments of morning coffee reveled in by morning people
who rose before the sun.
I pictured the greasy back-alley of a fast food joint
and realized that, for better or for worse,
I would never see
even a fraction
of what the world had to offer.
Sep 2023 · 733
Mechanism of Injury
Kitt Sep 2023
They ask you again and again,
What happened? Tell me the whole story
And you repeat yourself
Each time thinking it’s been received
But then a new ear, a new clipboard,
And they make you tell it again.

“What happened” becomes more important
Than “what’s happening now?”
Because they care about the mechanism
More than the injury

So what will they do when you go radio silent?
When your heart breaks do you need to rehash how he hurt you,
Again and again for each secondary witness?
At what point does the sordid story end
And the sequel begin?
Or will the pursuit of healing,
The treating of trauma,
Forever be defined by
the mechanism of injury?
Sep 2023 · 109
untitled (five questions)
Kitt Sep 2023
What is this?
A memory? A dream?
A memory of a dream?
Early morning passes in serenity,
birdcalls slowly replacing the patter of precipitation
as hazy sunbeams drift lazily past the curtain.

Exhale a steady sigh out the cracked window. your breath,
an ephemeral cloud for just a moment,
is highlighted against the garden
and your shoulders fall.
The balloon of breath swells again in your chest, filling the cavity with peaceful Sorrow.

When did She first look your way, blonde locks falling into Cerulean eyes?
When did he brush past you and send waves of butterflies swarming your insides?

Maybe this is better.
Maybe it's better to see the world clearly, without the pretty impediment
of rose-colored glasses.
Maybe it's better to never bite the apple, for what might you lose
if it has turned?
Better to never taste crisp, cool fruits if you can
save your milk-teeth from being lost in ice-chilled flesh.
1 March 2022 - “five question prompt”
Sep 2023 · 367
Kitt Sep 2023
Teeth sink into cold flesh
Piercing thin skin
The crunch of triumph rings:
devour me whole
Leave nothing behind
but the rotting, browning, sugary core
and seeds with a tiny drop
of cyanide
(if ever, in case, the apple bites back).

Break me down to my barest pieces
and root shiftlessly through the rubble
clean house, so they say, and getting
ready for spring
Rid yourself of the taste of me.
Sep 2023 · 667
Kitt Sep 2023
Part I

There are parts of me I will not give you, Stranger;
But these parts are not many.
I have always been comfortable in vulnerability.
Or perhaps, I have weaponized it—
To destroy not kingdoms but boundaries:
Confuse the prey and ****** the predator,
until they are one and the same.

Part II

But if I expose my soft underbelly to anyone,
Can it still be considered vulnerability?
How must it feel to be scarred
Again and again
Battered and wounded—
Yet the flesh never hardens against incursion?
To have so much weakness so plainly to see
Easy to touch, even more to make bleed
Bear witness against the truth
Yet shatter all of the doubts—
What lies in the middle, then?
What will the law of averages reveal?
Is that soft underbelly truly so honest and real
Or is it another form of camouflage
Designed to mislead
As the fanfare protects the executioner?

Part III

The armor of insight is deception
Deception that strives to please
For distracting the audience is crucial
To being this kingdom to its knees

So in revealing the war strategy to her enemy
Can a commander be

Part IV

Just who is the enemy, and why does he lurk about?
GR, if you’re still here, don’t read into this one too much. It’s not about you.

The line about the fanfare refers to The Art of Worldly Wisdom by Baltasar Gracián, circa the mid 1600s
Sep 2023 · 808
Bathe in Brimstone
Kitt Sep 2023
Purify through fire and fury
Scourge away imperfections
But in doing so, sear away the layers of myself
That I never knew I would miss
Until now, with raw baby flesh left
Pink, bubbling burns.

Sit down, little fool;
These words are not meant for you
Your little ears are too soft and sensitive
For such a scalding reality.
Sep 2023 · 2.4k
Kitt Sep 2023
it’s strange;
whenever I think of you
(which is often, I must admit)
I can’t help but smile to myself
just a little bit.
I think I might be in trouble.
Sep 2023 · 1.7k
The Earth Shall Not Die
Kitt Sep 2023
Our mother, Gaia, shall never die
Though for us I cannot speak
When Terra does turn her back to our kind
Our might shall seem so meek
Roaring flames do lick her skin
While Chaos’ storms do rage
But Mother Earth will retreat within
And turn to a blank new page.

Zeus will fall when the skies go black
His wife, Hera, to follow when families dissolve
Once the gods fall there’ll be no way back
And hubris will be our final resolve.
Chronus may falter when there’s nobody alive
To observe the passage of hours
When the clocks have all stopped,
Gears unturning under toppled clock towers
No grandfathers left to chime.
But Gaia will live on in sleep so bereft
Long after we’re lost to time.

With no men to wage wars, Ares will fade
Athena too as innovation runs dry
Aphrodite may weep when there’s no love to be made
Hermes, when there’s nowhere to fly
And though our sun will live past our end,
There’ll be no chariot of gold
No homes, no hearths for Hestia to tend
And no music for Apollo to behold

We have long lost one of the faces
Of Artemis, the huntress under moonlight’s reign
And civilization (so-called) now erases
Pan, the wild god, and his sacred domain
What next, I now ask, shall we bid our farewell?
What aspect of humanity lost?
As we stumble along nearer to Hell
Whom shall be the next forgot?

But fear thee not, for life’s most precious gift
is the transience, the temporal nature of Earth
All will change, all will shift
and perhaps a different Cosmos may birth.
Once the stardust settles, a new something to arrive
And we shall perhaps there meet once again
Tied by fresh cords of fate to share new lives.

And all the while, she’s waited for us
Watching and loving those souls immortal
Taking new forms now from different dust
She’ll rejoice and rebirth the primordial
They will rise and then fall and eventually make way
For the pantheon of a new universe to arise
Perhaps not all will look the same--
But close enough for essence to find.
Kitt Sep 2023
Our Mother, who art of Terra
Cherished be thy heart
Thy wisdom is needed,
Thy guidance be heeded,
Wherever we arrive or depart.
As is above, so be below;
We ask of thee for our nourishment,
Feed us in body, in mind and in soul
Unite us under the blessed maypole
Even as we strive, to reach and to thrive
In search of individual goals.
Guide us with thy wisdom, towards brighter days ahead
And protect us from all forms of harm that may fall upon our heads
For thou art the Earth, the Mother,
Our Goddess forever and ever.
So mote it be.
Sep 2023 · 960
Monsoon Season
Kitt Sep 2023
I love the ambiance, the steady constant of raindrops crashing against the earth
I love how it washes away the pollen and dust
Cleansing the air so I can breathe
I love umbrellas and glossy rain boots in yellow or red
Fat raindrops speeding to bring hope and salvation to the deserted ground
Best of all I love to be completely surrounded by a storm:
Lighting so close it sends a  tingle along your skin and lights up the night like day,
Thunder so crashingly loud it resonates in your stomach and feet,
Stirring the primordial fear of unknown power,
of both darkness and of light
of the shadows and not of what casts them
but of certain illumination wrought with paradox,
The wind that blows up my dress and lifts the hair from my neck
filling my umbrella until I feel weightless
For one glorious moment, I almost believe I may float away with the storm

We cannot help but romanticize the phenomenal
Giving ever-changing names and faces to the forces of nature, believing l
or at least pretending
That they’re alive with us.
And maybe,
in a sense,
They are alive.
Not with us,
But within.
Sep 2023 · 540
Backward Glances
Kitt Sep 2023
I found healing there
It's like He was speaking to me in my Walk
‘Chew your gum, girl,
For the smells they pump through the pipes is meant to tempt you.
Lascivious meats and unholy spices’
So redeem yourself when you stray
Gosh, heck it all and **** it
But under God, Hell awaits the ******.
‘I am covered by the blood of the lamb
So I shall be saved’
Same chapter, different verse
I am ****** all the same.
Sep 2023 · 924
Untitled Greek Parable
Kitt Sep 2023
onslaughts of parasitic butterflies devour her liver each eve
sparing just enough to grow back the next day
her night clothes are torn under razor beaks
then mended each morning by the nimble-fingered Narcissi
who do not lament her predicament,
but sing mellow little tunes in C minor,
a statement: there is no latent compassion for Pandora
nor for her descendants in Greece or in Rome.
from a word usage prompt
Sep 2023 · 276
Kitt Sep 2023
such an exhilarating phenomenon presents itself tonight
for the first time in so long
the curtain to the inner sanctum has been pulled askew
and in steps: you.
I hope I will not come to rue the moment
that led me to this start
though my intuition tells me that I am safe
with you in my heart.
for GR, my friend, the most unexpected blessing of this year
Oct 2022 · 2.7k
Kitt Oct 2022
I love with a dangerous, reckless abandon
Fire and no hint of shame
Occasionally with a lover in tandem
I’ll be laughing and crying the same
I fall in and out, seeming at random
And play at love like a game

She, however— quite the contrary—
Travels so slowly she’s almost inert
She approaches my cavern, ever so wary
Afraid that, again she’ll be hurt
Time is her friend, the yellow canary
If it falls silent; she’ll up and desert
Oct 2022 · 1.8k
Blood & Water
Kitt Oct 2022
They say the ties that bind, wither towards the end
Their witty mottos downplay the love of a friend
“The blood of the covenant,” the adage remains still frozen,
“Flows much thicker than the water of the womb.”
And therefore they deduce: our loyalties reduce
And family only matters when it is chosen.

But the blood relations between man’s nations
Groan under the strain of their bond
For who would have thought that brothers were not
By long and far man’s best creation.
Kitt Jul 2022
Tell me it’s worth it, all of this pain
That life gives you more than this strain
Tell me it gets easier, somehow, from here
Tell me how someday I’ll live without fear

Whisper your promise that you’ll never leave
Swear on your soul that I’ll never bereave
Hold my hand against your beating heart
And make me believe that we’ll never part

Tell me it’s worth it to struggle along
Sing me a lullaby, a soft, solemn song
Impress upon me the truth that you speak
Be my strength when I am but weak

Ice in my heart brings no solace this time
Melt me with promises of summer sublime
Hold me and whisper your comforting lies
I’ll try to believe you until our demise

Tell me it’s worth it to feel this way now
Assure me, remind me of our sacred vow
Tell me I’ll have you forever and a day
Promise that love will always find a way

Perpetual lonesomeness takes its toll
My shattered existence is lacking a soul
But for now in this place I’ll trust in illusions
Crystalline happiness built on delusions

Tell me it’s worth it, and I’ll tell you the same
And together we’ll believe forever will remain.
Kitt Jun 2022
How can it be that life should be so sweet
What could I've done to earn this greatest gift
That I should have this rarest chance to meet
A soul so kind, who opens up her heart.
Their arms forever opened to embrace
Their words forever ready to uplift
Even her home, that sanctuaried place
Left open-doored to friends who go adrift.
Their voice they raise to advocate for change
To validate, they spread not hate, but love
She lives her life without a trace of shame
She must have been a gift sent from above.
No words I speak nor write could manifest
A friend like her; she really is the best.
Okay so it's not like, the most sophisticated piece I've ever written, but it's the thought that counts, right? Anyway, this sonnet goes out to RF, the love of my life and the only one who keeps me going sometimes.
Kitt Jun 2022
Sometimes, such as on days like today
I sit and I mourn for my long-forgotten faith
I miss the certainty of a Most Divine Plan
Those self-assured speeches of a holy man
Assurances he speaks for the Ordained Track
Promises of a Supreme Being who's got my back
On these days when I wish, reminisce and long
I can't help but wonder where it all went so wrong

It's not that I Believe that There Is No God
Or even that I am unsure whether to believe or not
I don't bother questioning if god is real
For there is a bigger issue at play, I feel
When I became faithless, it was just in HIS eyes
"Faithless" I am not; there's just so much to surmise

I have Faith that the sun will warm each new day
I have Faith that these heavy clouds will give rain
I have Faith in the ground solid on which I stand
I have faith; just not Faith in the Words of a Man

See, I have come to accept that I soon will die
More surely, in fact, than the sun that may rise
Any day that sun may not appear
That day of darkness that we so fear
I accept that any moment May advent my end
I accept that there May be a sunrise just round the bend

With my flawed, weak powers of human perception
Dependent as they are on my senses' inception
I cannot Know a god, not many nor One
Just as I cannot Know that tomorrow will come

Maybe it will, and maybe there is
after all,
But truly--
who among us can Know anything
at all?
Jun 2022 · 266
Kitt Jun 2022
elegant as an elephant
graceful as the flocking geese
she wears a tiara of burrs
upon her head and crows,
"look! I am the princess now."

fair Ramona, why do you cry?
there is nothing left for you there
those girls were mean as shrews
they only brought you shame
with their callous words and giddy games

Ramona, O Ramona, blessed art thou
amongst maidens
for thine is the healing, the mercy,
the clev'rest wit and purest soul
for now and forever and ever
a tribute to those who feel as ugly as ducklings
Jun 2022 · 955
fire girl
Kitt Jun 2022
the girl made of paper sits by the sill
contemplative and morose
she struggles but cannot find the will
to break from her comatose

she dips her eyelashes in kerosene
and strikes the wooden match
when, oh when, will this waking dream
from her living world detach?

fertility hath left her bleeding
those virile meadows scorched
she knows her youth is fleeting
yet she cannot put out this torch

this girl, set ablaze by selfish desire
howls up in wrath at the moon
why, oh why, does this unending fire
burn hottest to those near'st the tomb?
Nov 2021 · 249
trapped between dimensions
Kitt Nov 2021
Erebus swallows the sunlight, plunging you down
into the thick, suffocating darkness
wrapping your body like silk sheets
dark sheets, not black but dark
dark in the way that the crack in your ceiling was
when you were six, and water damage from the upstairs
broke through the plaster and left a void
it grinned at you, sending shivers of evil down your spine
and it laughed when you screamed for your mom.

You are not six anymore.
the ceiling has been patched for years.
static from the TV fills the soulless motel room
you had put it on for the white noise
of garish and noisy cartoons,
hoping they might drown out the silence
but the wind storm outside must have knocked out the cable
because now it is static.
just black and white dots aimlessly filling empty space and time
like you.

It has been a long time since you have rested.
when was the last time you slept?
sleeping seems as chaotic as waking,
so it's hard to tell.
is that patter rain?
is it the sink? or a neighbor's shower?
but then again, does it even really matter?
it feels forbidden, yet inevitable that you would wind up here
maybe you should get out while you still can.

Who are you?

Why are you?

Does it matter?

Does anything matter?

Do you matter?


rest, now. the answers will not come.
so forget it.
forget the pain,
the sorrow,
the deliberation.
exhale, and rest forever.

Nov 2021 · 251
The Subject of a Painting
Kitt Nov 2021
The subject of a painting
whether oil or watercolor or tempera
does not know she is in a painting.

She knows her past, whatever of it
her artist gave her when he brought her to life,
though (unbeknownst to her) she did not experience
any of it herself.

She was conceived a fully-grown woman,
so when the painting is one of hurt,
the subject sits in it from first brushstroke into infancy
(or until the work is burned in a **** fire--
though who knows if flames can destroy
consciousness given to an idea as
ephemeral as a painted girl?)

So forever she will lie in her sick bed,
languor in her grief,
swoon from the heat of the sun,
or cry at a grave site under the cover of darkness,
stand beside her husband stoically surveying her fields,
or weep at the feet of her son
as he dies nailed upon a tree, or
cry in pain as her womb expels an unborn babe.

But I-- one day I wake in another bed
or the same bed, on a different day
My injury, my pain that felt interminable,
is gone (or at least, eased) and I have
no gaps in my teeth.
I have left the painting
I have less pain,
a new life. A new day.

For me, the wheel keeps turning, for
I am not
the subject of a painting.
So, this too
I know, shall pass.
And for me the sun will rise again tomorrow.
Jan 2021 · 800
the father, the rock
Kitt Jan 2021
a mouse under a rock
she peers out to see the world
green! blue! white!
a stream, winding down the hillside
a lush forest full of life and breath
clouds that drift overhead
but the shadow of a predator falls
and sends chills down her spine
the mouse retreats.

a mouse under a rock
peeks out once again
sunlight! grass! wind!
the cascading of a falls not too far
a swimming hole, perhaps
surrounded in trees and mud
but the predator is back,
so the mouse hides again.
Kitt Dec 2020
one: "mom"

crossing the line she had drawn in the sand
cussing me out from holding my hand
these rules and lies all she made up
her chalice of fire scorching my cup

rue the day she came to know
the silent demon hid in my soul
pushing memories out of the way
and succumb to a chasm of arid dismay

two: "rules"

forget the burning in your *****
forget the cursed mine of coins
forget the lashings from her lips
forget the sinner b'twixt my hips

eyes that sting when open too long
voice that scratches when given song
bodies that itch for cursed delights
heart that relates pleasure and fright

three: "Mary"

blessed are they that feel the burn
holy is she that ignores the yearn
but what should she get for crossing her thighs?
not honor nor respect, but labor and sighs

'sainthood becomes her,' the elders all say
'so honest! so pure! and see just how fair!'
whilst only yesterday they'd cursed the *****
remanded to outcast; covered no more.
Oct 2020 · 251
Kitt Oct 2020
I power down the computer and wait for the processes to shut down
and as I do, I recognize for a moment
the chiming shut-down sound
as the same sound that plays in my head on a loop when I am trying to sleep
when the silent room screams louder than I can hear over
but in my ears it rings out again and again
while I toss and turn

I did not get the same courtesy when I was reset.
Mine was a cold reboot, with no warning or preparation
I had no idea what was about to happen
when he unplugged me from my reality
or messed up my keys.
I only knew when I powered up again the next morning
that something was wrong.

Only then did I realize that my programming had been corrupted.
Feb 2020 · 167
Whatever is True
Kitt Feb 2020
“Whatever is true,” she said,
“I want better for you.”

What’s true is that I am alone in my fight
The darkness that swallows the light
For whatever is true, dear Mother
Is your baby was hurt by another

What’s true is that I stand alone
Cowering before the Wicked One’s throne
For whatever is true, Father dear
Is your little girl was stolen from here

What’s true is that I’m losing my mind
Every step pushes me further behind
For whatever is true, dear Friend
Is that I am drawing near to my end
Jan 2020 · 219
Opening Night
Kitt Jan 2020
my love language is silence
written into the script:
moments of lapsed conversation
where all is tranquil and serene.
or when we forget our lines and sit
in hushed reverence,
allowing one another’s stage presence
to wash over us like the backlights.
invisible audiences hold bated breath
waiting for a twist, a shock
but a twist, we have not rehearsed
instead we allow the unscripted silence
to wash over us in reverent bliss
our conjoined souls just content
allowing our minds to diverge
as long as we are together in the silence.
Dec 2019 · 220
When Death Loved
Kitt Dec 2019
Two noble powers, Birth and Death
whose balanced struggle is catalyst for the rest
Birth starts a life that it's Death's job to take
with Birth's son, Love, and Death's son Pain
companions to hold 'til dust in a grave.

There once was a power who ruled beneath
he'd steal the lost and smite the weak
he held man's life in his cold, cruel grasp
without a moment of light to last
he'd visit the people, a harbinger sans ruth
bringing news of a barren, hideous truth
then steal away, fast as shadow rolls
bringing with him expired human souls
Death was ruthless, death was cold.
Death had no problems with himself to behold
he reveled in sadness, he thrived in blood red
he garnered his power from tears, victims shed.

Then one day, a golden beam of light
the one golden ray that Death cannot smite
a soft light beam was born at the crack of dawn
and Death felt something he knew was wrong
the baby girl, such a small babe
she grew up in safety, out of Death's way.

But Death could not keep away from her for long so light
he had to see her, be near her, so he visited her one night
he took not the girl, for then he could not even hope
but instead, her mother, whose thread of life he cut the rope
and the girl was saddened, desolate she cried
but Death couldn't find it in him to allow her to die
so he saved his visit to her for the last one he brings
visiting her father and brother next he came, slicing her heart-strings
but the girl became depressed and wished not for him
instead she pulled the dagger out on a hopeless whim.
The pain was too much for her to await her Death's part
she pulled the knife out and held it over her heart
and took her own life, robbed him of a visit such
and she passed to forever, without Death having one touch.
Dec 2019 · 519
Interstate 95
Kitt Dec 2019
The rain came down,
and it keeps coming down,
so nourishing to the parched earth
yet so gloomy and low. It fits the mood.
An event that must happen, for the world to survive
But that, in the moment, only feels like a dreary moodsetter on a blustery day.
It isn’t too dark out. Despite the rain coming down in torrents, it’s still bright.
As I drive along the highway I see that rays of
sunshine are poking out from behind the clouds, and I think that,
somewhere along the distance, from the right vantage, where the brilliant sun rays
hit the storm droplets at just the right angle, there might be a rainbow
Just too far gone down the road for me to see it.
Nov 2019 · 982
Kitt Nov 2019
Take me out on a Saturday night
and show me the world
kiss me under the stars
as Venus looks on, blushing
and Mars pumps his fists into the air.
dance me to a chamber filled with
Erotes, and sate their hungry appetites.
wrap your hands in my hair
let me swim in your Nymphetic waters
let us soak in the reverie
and lap up one another's salty waves.
close the distance between us
and rouge my skin with your claws
let Suada have her way with us:
let her persuade us to let go
of Minerva's harsh rule
and give in;
Let us remain in this lush place forever
or at least, until Rome falls around us.
Aug 2019 · 351
Kitt Aug 2019
The emerald stones embroidered into this pouch glitter
by the light of the flames that engulf this city
a baby shoe, tied in a bag of silk
hangs delicately round my neck
my pendant to bring me back to you one day
the sanctified emblem of hope:
el zapato de bebé de una niña robada
a locket, the other half of which you carry
my two identities lost in a crusade de fuego y sogas
One, the baby taken
The other a woman stolen
Mort à la pute! une sorcière! le gitan doit mourir.
my sentence carried out as you watch
just moments after we reunite again
only to have to say Dja devlesa!
My face lit by the burning cathedral
Then slackened by the tightening rope.
Jun 2019 · 55
She Talks Too Much
Kitt Jun 2019
Will there ever come a day where I drown you in my words,
you sinking up to your ears in my grievances and tales
of sheer mediocrity?
Will there come a day when you cry out and beg me to be silent;
and since I am too shocked to know what else to do, I fall so?
Will there come a day when my endless tales become the bane of our love?
Apr 2019 · 242
You’re a Good Animal
Kitt Apr 2019
Can we just lie here forever
With our eyelids heavy,
fingertips light
arm behind head
chest against chest
Breathing rhythmically together,
exchanging silent words of sweetness?
Your metaphor for love
rings like a bell in my ears
as I trace the contours of your body
with my fingers, enjoying
every moment.
Kitt Apr 2019
Notre Dame is burning
This we all have seen
But Notre Dame’s been burning
For longer than this dream

Families and their children
Have worshiped in her halls
But families and children
Were stolen by its falls

Notre Dame was sacred
For worship and for song
But Notre Dame’s not sacred
As it had not been for long

Maybe this magestic falling
Is what the world must see
It’s this tremendous falling
That may set the children free

Worship moves with ages
No building must we *****
Elaborate walls do serve to hide
Wrongs we can never correct

So mourn her burning if you feel
But spare us the unending plea
For Notre Dame and her ***** deals
Must end before eternity.
The church was a beautiful reminder of tradition and grandeur, but the sercrets that go on within the walls of the Church are better off cremated.
Apr 2019 · 517
Train Station
Kitt Apr 2019
Despite the emptiness of the train station, I can hear the sounds of people.
Headed to work.
Headed home from work.
Day shifts, night shifts
Social visits
Business ventures.
All of the emotions and all of the stories they carry, unbeknownst to one another
save the innocuous and inadvertent clues given
by way of their postures or countenances, caught in glances
and forgotten just as quickly.

The station is full of ghosts,
of memories lost and faded from time.
Sentiments once deemed of utmost importance
but that now lie as irrelevant as those deemed unimportant.
All of them, lying together
as dead as dead can be.
There is an eerie chilliness to the air,
but I can’t bring myself to pull out my jacket and bundle up.
Somehow, the cold feels
fitting for the mood.
I haven’t been here in so long, yet I can still hear the ambiance
from so long ago.
I could almost feel the murmur of conversation
the occasional flipping of pages from books or newspapers
the omnipresent thundering of railways
the laughter of children on their mothers’ laps on the way to visit Grandma.
I can hear the patter of expensive Italian shoes
the shuffle of worn work boots
the clicking of heels
the scuff of flats
all running together
as the masses shift and shuttle hither and thither.
I thought about the loafers and stilettos that had once scuffed these hard floors.
I thought about how, in the moment, they must’ve seemed so vital,
so necessary.
But now?
Expensive and cheap shoes are buried together on decaying corpses.

I had lived near the train tracks, once upon a time.
After the world came crashing down around me,
it was only in rebuilding it that I found
something as benign as the sounds of a railway to be comforting.
But I did, somehow. It was a reminder of the world that went on
despite it feeling like it was at an eternal standstill.
Of course, back then I was completely unaware
of how I was building up a collection of memories
centered around that very sound.
I didn’t realize how I would forever hear that sound
and be brought back to a simpler time.
I never knew how important it would become, or the memories it would bring along with it.
Equality in demise
Apr 2019 · 223
Leaving Oz
Kitt Apr 2019
Did Doorthy kiss the Lion's snout
when she parted ways?
Did she lay her fingertips on the cold metal
of the Tin Man's breastplate
Or run her hands through the straw hair
of her friend, the Scarecrow,
Before departing with her slippers back to home?
Did she ruffle her skirts
when the Wizard blew away
most likely to be caught in another Kansas storm?
Did she shed a tear for the melted Witch
and let it fall into the puddle of water and robes?

So must I kiss you goodbye
when the time comes for me
to leave our sanctuary and find my own
far away from the land in which you entrapped me?
Must I pat the monkeys that hung waiting for me
to try to escape your palace?
Must I bow to the guards standing sentry
at the front gates of this prison
where I relive my horrors again and again
watching the movie of my memory replay on the walls
as if projected by a machine meant to remind me forever?
Must I wave my tormentor goodbye,
shielding my eyes as I watch you fade into nothing
into the sun setting over my captivity?
A letter to my former life.
Apr 2019 · 1.6k
Kitt Apr 2019
she drinks in his kisses like sips of liquor
more potent than the champagne he pours into her mouth
bubbles rising within her

her vision dips
he gives another sip
her gaze drops
like ***** on the rocks

he's in his feelings now
his temper flares
her wrists are bare
the game goes on

the dance gets sloppier
as the floor gives way
they fall through to the mattress
his arms around her

anger fuels passion from long ago
pulsing his blood
the lights are low and red
there's a heat in the night that burns

there is no more dancing
the steps have turned to caresses
drunk on romance
she breaks the lock on her pants

and by morning she is alone with her hangover
Mar 2019 · 579
Kitt Mar 2019
Dolly, Dolly, play with me
let's braid your curly hair
dress you up and take you out
where everyone can see

Dolly, Dolly, sleep with me
let's curl up here in bed
I'll be your warmth if you lie still
and give in to my every dream

Dolly, Dolly, look at me
why do you not respond?
I'm calling you, Dolly, dear
why aren't you returning?

Dolly, Dolly, I'm sorry, dear
I haven't time to wait
my fingers ache, my body breaks
I must be leaving here

Dolly, Dolly, buried there
six feet under my creation
Here Lies Dolly, Beloved Plaything
played to death by strangulation.
Mar 2019 · 662
Kitt Mar 2019
unblemished smiles wither swiftly
crisp smile creases line the cheeks
and adorn the eyes
as youth fades into age
and age fades into oblivion
then the rest is dust and ashes.

breath is ephemeral
transcendent, even.
viridity is fleeting
foliage browns even as we speak
and soon folds into a worn leather bag
along with baubles from days of yore.

but there is a moral to the story
that these trinkets tell
they remind those remaining
of what has passed
and what is sure to come again
reminding the new to memorialize the old
and savor each moments as it comes.
Kitt Jan 2019
When you came into my home,
I felt your gaze lock onto me.
You think I didn’t feel the way
your pale spider eyes stalked me
But I knew, from the moment you cornered me
in the lillies.

When you drew me onto your lap,
I was paralyzed.
Your hands crept closer,
never touching
yet I felt your imagination ***** my thigh
as acutely as though you had struck me
across the face.

You dwelled deep in your elected paradise
while the hell-flames from the sky licked at my limbs
and caressed my body
leaving wounds that would fade into scars
Scars I would carry until the day that I died
in your heart.

You turned my body into a wasteland,
your bubble of hot poison
polluting my heart;
my landscapes scorched
by the fire of your *****
that swept across and broke my life.

You said you could not **** me
--would not **** me-- for
“It was love at first sight,
at last sight,
at ever and ever sight."

But you can always count on a murderer
for a fancy prose style;
you tore me apart
and ripped from within me
my stillborn girl.
This child within me died
and took me along with her

But, fear not, you pentapod monster
for to you, life will go on.
For you, the rest is rust
and stardust.
A Found Poem from Nabokov’s ‘******’
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