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2d · 48
apoco-LIPS
I’m in the library, at school, trying to write an article for the school paper (and I'm not even ON the school paper). I’m on a forty-five minute deadline to complete a story someone else did poorly - on the edge of my vision I see someone step up to my table - a boy, I can tell, without looking up, from his school uniform. I’m hoping whoever it is will go away.. 44 minutes.
“Uhh-umm,” I hear.
My eyes flicker up and I ID “Everett Priestly” - one of God’s less ambitious efforts.
After a moment.
“Uhh-umm,” he does again.
“Parsley,” I say, without looking up.
“Priestly,” he answers with a sigh, "wanna play HOUSE?" he says conspiratorially, with a smirk.
"We were 7," I say, liberally applying syrupy boredom.

I’ve kind of known Everett Priestly forever - he lives two doors away from us - then my family became ex-patriots until three years ago. His family is rich, he’s handsome and I believe someone once told him he was charming. He fancies himself a lady killer but I’m willing to bet that he kills them with a combination of daddy’s money and poor driving.

“I’m awfully busy - on deadline Mr. Priestly - please send me a text,” I say, again, without looking up.
“I don’t have your number,” he says, patiently. “Would you like to go to Sandra’s party with a group of us Friday night?”
“OOOO! Let’s keep it that way,” I smile - this is too easy - 42 minutes.
“It’ll be FUN,” he says, with a smile in his voice - Oh, God, he’s trying charm.
“Everett,” I stop writing, look up and lean back. “You ask me out every two months. If you’ve made a bet with someone - like we’re living a teen movie - I’ll payoff the bet for ya if you just give it a rest, OK?”
He really IS good looking - but kissing him would be the apoco-LIPS.
“Why do you always say no??,” he asks, with a helpless 1/6th shrug and his GIGAWATT smile.
41 minutes.
“See you in January,” I say, as I slide my laptop closer in, give it my obvious, full attention and hopefully, start back to writing.
“Come to Thanksgiving!,” he says, as inspiration strikes.
“January would be MLK day,” I remind him. “Everett, PLEASE - deadline,” I plead (not looking up).
Everett, makes a snarky sound, turns around and slowly moves away - like a man headed for jail - he really SHOULD try out for the drama department, I decide. 40 minutes.

When Everett turned 16, his daddy gave him some kind of expensive foreign sports car - a really, really, really expensive sports car. Six hours later Everett guns this formula-one race-car out of a gas station, loses control, and totals it. The girl with him had to get stitches over her right eye.

His friends call him “EV” - they say it with a kind of a southern accent - that I can’t decide is fake or not, which gives it a hint of - “Elvis” - had a replacement car within 48 hours. He wrecked THAT one in less than six weeks - and his date got a concussion in the roll-over.

If he wants me to get in a car with him, he’s gonna to have to taser me.
some people exist in their worlds of their own - it's best if we don't join them.
4d · 41
escape velocity
Oh, you swamp me with charm - get out of my head.
There’s something about you - a warmth - like the comfort of home - that pulls at me.

I study your landscape of attractive surfaces like a star chart - logging my weaknesses - to strengthen my emotional firewall. I WANT you but my “wants” just seem untrustworthy after recent deprivations.

To be honest - I can’t afford you - not now. You’re a delicious pastry - with strings - and I need to cut all my strings.

You’re something younger me would have wanted - before the pandemic, when scandalous thinking was uncomplicated and freedoms taken for granted.

Last year simplified my reality.

Over time, boredom melted me like wax but a new me crossed some threshold of certainty - that to flourish - no, just to survive - I must become more than I am, or find I’m less than I hoped.

In 2019 goals seemed way, way someday things - far off reference points to seek out - like an inchworm. Social details occupied me like an unfocused dementia - there was an unacceptable level of childish thinking.

But now I’m an escapee on the run who won’t be taken back alive. Old attachments must be stripped down and the old world made disposable - if I’m to achieve escape velocity.
2021 - my year for post-pandemic escape  =]
7d · 74
changes 2021
I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more.

There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again.

I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free.

I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions.

It's hard to quash tremors of impatience.

I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity.

I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever.

I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy.

There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021."

I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses?

I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve.

I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught.

My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety.

My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags.
"Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried."

I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring.

"No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped.

But that's a later worry =]
There are some changes in my world - at last
Jan 27 · 219
the polar bear
Anais Vionet Jan 27
A child is somewhere scribbling,
not quite knowing what to say,
a ****** with a habit of empty words.

The smart money’s on failure
and I can’t seem to sleep,
because the moon is leaking sliver fears.

The polar-bear cocktail,
paints a chalk barricade,
that incoherent scolding's cannot climb.

Hope went unnoticed,
until it was lost,
but sudden silence
- came to make me new.

The marks of quiet panic
- those flickering tattoos,
fade - like specters in the sun.

In the company of kindness,
peace glitters just like glass,
and the witch in the mirror slinks away.

You’ll find me at the exit,
heading for a steady sea,
my uninformed perspective’s in my bag.

I navigate like driftwood,
hoping for a return trip,
my plans are coherent in my dreams .
scribbling notes from incoherent dreams
Jan 21 · 196
School uniforms
Anais Vionet Jan 21
School uniforms
are the last, tired gasp of a
dying patriarchy.

You see a DARK bra
under my blouse? Oh, God! Who
knew girls wore those!

School uniforms, with
long sleeves, aren't made for
pandemic washing.

A guy told me that
girls in school uniforms are
a core **** motif.

I told him his grasp
of **** tropes must rival
that of our school board.

School uniforms are
meant to UNsex otherwise
provocative girls.

As if our entire
gender were attempting to
subvert algebra.
uniforms - even in virtual school.
Anais Vionet Jan 20
Don - they tell me you're leaving
I can't believe it's true,
that we’ll get to live without you.

You’ll go away - govern-mentally,
after all this pain and misery.
When you go - I won’t miss you,
You never said a thing that was true.

Remember when - you hoaxed the virus fight.
What an idiot - you never got it right.
Trump never cared - for me or you,
but we might survive now that he's through.

So let’s discuss - the insurrection -
you provoked when you lost the election.
You got impeached for time number two
who said breaking up was hard to do?

Let’s say goodbye - and let it be,
I hear you’re going to do - Trump TV?
About the time you get that set up,
New York will come and lock you up.
Bye bye Mr. Trump - SEE-ya - wouldn't want ta BE-ya.
Jan 19 · 244
stick figures
Anais Vionet Jan 19
Draw a stick figure
future - diminished
and virus ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open; some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
possible futures, improbable futures and impossible futures
Jan 18 · 172
morning routines
Anais Vionet Jan 18
What do theologians call a life without events?

The lights of my prison-like room dawn before sun's first blush.
I open sand-papery eyes as my AI announces the morning.

I begin the puppetry of morning routines:
I study my pale inmate face as I polish the porcelain.

I look less of a drowsy-angel than a zombie as I splash cold water
on the face with an almost determined lack of expression.

I’m absorbed in an ocean of predawn cold
as I 5-mile-walk away my sleepiness - this small freedom
- keeps me fit and acceptably sane.

Later, bathed in hot indifference,
and clothed in exhausting obligations,
I dine, at my reserved table, with my gang of irritations.

Soon I’m ready for another taxing day
of waiting for the disease to run its course.
Isolation express! Leaving on track... wait - we're going nowhere 🙃
Jan 17 · 332
sunrise haiku
Anais Vionet Jan 17
Morning's induction act -
the sun breaks cover bright as
Los Alamo's flash.
The sun, rising from behind Mont Blanc, made sunrise seem sudden.
Jan 16 · 560
bonds of affection
Anais Vionet Jan 16
.............I found
    some           words
that                              I
can                         use
       to                 bind
            you with
words can do what rope, or duct tape, or super glue cannot.
Jan 15 · 155
memory deprivation
Anais Vionet Jan 15
The question is:
“Are people still collecting
memories, these days?”

"This isolation
isn't bothering me much.”
I say, if I'm asked.

But I’m not sure that’s
true. After hundreds of nights
of dull solitude.

I think each night might
carry a value - of dear,
and unmeasured loss.

Loss of memories
- because they never happened.
How have we all changed?
We're in the forever dull days, with their dull ways.
Jan 14 · 134
out
Anais Vionet Jan 14
out
Now I understand
why dogs get so excited
about going out.
***!!! We're going out, Out, OUT!!!
Jan 13 · 154
#forgetaboutit
Anais Vionet Jan 13
virtual school moments (in senryus)

I forget that I'm
virtual school, because I'm
really in my room.

And start brushing my
hair or singing a song I'm secretly
listening to - until friends text me!

My mom forgets I'm
in v.school, comes in, to yell
at me about dishes.

My cat walks across
my keyboard submitting "84;'/jifgvbzws"
as a test answer.

"It was a typo!," I complain,
“You still got an "A"," she says.
"But I LOST 4 points!!" Argh!
"Get a life!," she says.
virtual school is so strange, so lonely, so liberating and convenient.
Jan 12 · 235
awoken
Anais Vionet Jan 12
Arrggh!!
**** phone alarm.
I gulp haste.
I open my school app - like an eyelid.
Invade my sanctuary, virtual tyranny.
Where's my focus?!
looking around for my coffee cup
I feel like a bobble-head.
I dread fire-drill like last minute wake-ups
Jan 11 · 458
imagination hurts
Anais Vionet Jan 11
(a firefly)

Put that imagination away before you hurt someone.
"You'll shoot your eye out"
Jan 10 · 166
realities
Anais Vionet Jan 10
(a sonnet)

Two realities, both alike in dignity,
In fair America, where we lay our scene,
There fallacious grudges explode into mutiny,
and lawful-blood makes patriot-hands unclean.

From common bonds these neighborly foes,
sail contrary seas of truth; on which they stake their lives.
Some, stoked for misadventure, by the host of a TV show,
do with their scurrilous deeds bury their futures for strife.

The fearful passage of compatriots love,
by continued embrace of marketed rage,
which, admitted truth and humility could dispose of,
fills now our breathless hours and sets our stage.

Which of you, with angry hearts, will patient peace attend,
and back away from martial games so pointless strife can end?
I start off with a twisted sample of Shakespeare - to set the tone - and purposefully have two inversions ("fills now" instead of the more modern "now fills") for a (hopefully) classical feel.
Jan 9 · 95
whispers
Anais Vionet Jan 9
Hello again
nagging dissatisfaction
diminish me again
corrupt everything
with your whispers of truth.
Would you like some malaise on that sandwich?
Jan 8 · 164
twisted America
Anais Vionet Jan 8
You can twist the way a man sees the world.
Do you think that sounds ridiculous?
What if you did it over time with subtlety and diligence?

The audience is largely uneducated, so remind them of their impotence; tell them any other source of facts must be regarded with suspiciousness.

Whisper to them over breakfast and slowly introduce corrosive dissonance; outright lie to them at dinner,salting in some truth for spicy antithesis.

Those who run the country are up to something mischievous; their lives, their fine America, have been eroding with precipitance.

Remember empowered yesterdays with a sad and tearful wistfulness; twist the needs and rights of others with pernicious lies and maliciousness.

Invest their government with conspiracy and its policies with wickedness. Remind your audience that freedom was torn from kings by well-armed militias.

Introduce the savior as a shining instrument of religiousness; defend his faults as small and frivolous and his right to rule as unambiguous.

When shocking reality dares assert itself, denials must be vicious and officious.

A rescue mission must be launched and certainly they must be participants; banners from the gift shop will form a team identity and a certain moral equivalence.

The leader will whip the angry crowd, stoking resentment with fabricated incidents, swearing, “I will be with you on this great crusade and you will be my instruments”

As the mob storms off he will slink away; he was only there for stimulus.

Hear the old republic creak as the President flexes his insolence; he’s seen that no blame can touch him, so he’s filled with proud ambivalence.

What will it take to rein him in? What kind of obvious stimulant, with thousands already dying every day and our society marbled with brittleness?
shake, oh fragile republic
Jan 7 · 124
notre voyage
Anais Vionet Jan 7
We’re the crew of the spaceship boring - on a one year mission.
The situation's literally life or death - this isn’t science-fiction.

The crew is an actual family - ideal for such a quest,
but none of us volunteered for this - it’s more like house arrest.

We seek out no adventures, we avoid interaction if we can.
We boldly go absolutely nowhere - isolation is the plan.

Wander into our orbit - we’ll scan you with our sensors.
Our station's sealed to aliens and we don't let any enter.

Our voyage is just symbolic we're not in outer space,
the commission is simple self-sacrifice and it happens at turtle pace.

If you need me I'll be me in my capsule, safe in my virtual void,
sequestered for the greater good and shelved like an unwanted toy.
Safe in the void and somewhat annoyed
Jan 6 · 93
blue Georgia, BABY
Anais Vionet Jan 6
(Georgia election Senryus)

Yeah, we're going
to give America the
democratic win.

'Cause that's how we roll.
We'll show you how to toss out
republican crooks.

We'll give the bird to
lying Donald Trump and his
criminal cohorts.

Long live America,
long live The Constitution,
long live blue Georgia.
democrats win!!! God bless Georgia, and America.
Jan 5 · 169
density
Anais Vionet Jan 5
I want to speak to you so badly
but I’m just going to sit here hoping
you’ll start the conversation.

Boys are so dense!

I even send an obvious signal:
I didn't pull out my phone and get all busy
the moment we were alone.

Duh.
cross gender (intergender?) communication can be like contacting aliens
Anais Vionet Jan 4
We hurtle down the last few hundred feet
of steep lavender lined cobbled *****
shaded by majestic umbrella pines - around
a last hairpin turn and there they are:

The blue-white Pampelonne beaches, of St Tropez.
Their indecent beauty almost defeats words.

With the scents of lavender, pine and salt sea air, you can
get dizzy on the aromatics. It's a Mediterranean performance
or perhaps a preview of heaven.

Our daredevil, fifteen year old driver, (Sylvain)
gets an unappreciative look from my mom. My brother (Brice)
and sister (Annick) whoop as if practiced, as they leap
from the open-sided Mercedes shuttle. I calmly gather my things.

This tranquil and elegant beach cove is private for hotel
guests - no chic crowds here - just a few quiet guests and
valets dressed in beige. The Pampelonne beaches are *******
(**** if you like), Annick peels ******* just before she hits the waves.

Brice, ever the considerate brother says, “Come ON,
RELAX, you’ll just look like one of the BOYS.”
Which earns him the old, American, one-finger salute.

I missed vacations this year and the beaches - where hours
stretch, with blissful laziness, to the rhythm of nature.
Will we ever get back to some pre-pandemic "normal"?
I hope that we can "storm the beaches" again in 2021 (ready to lead the charge).
Jan 3 · 260
unmade
Anais Vionet Jan 3
On this winter morning
I’m daydreaming
of warm summer daysprings,
blue lake glistenings,
butterscotch skin,
heartbeat quickenings,
and unmade decisions behind blue eyes.
lying in bed, on a holiday morning, the mind is free to frolic
Jan 2 · 745
Santa's lap
Anais Vionet Jan 2
(Sitting on Santa's lap)

Me: "I want a dragon"
Santa: "Nope, too dangerous"
Me: "Ok, then I want a boyfriend"
Santa: "What color dragon?"
a last Christmas piece *sigh* back to TOTALLY boring soon
Jan 1 · 126
solstice
Anais Vionet Jan 1
This is the viral solstice and I am liberty’s gambler.
What would I give to taste the fresh air of freedom?

Anything.

Thaw-out that space-cold hope and puncture me – please.
God blesses the poets to write of such miracles.
is it gambling if you know you're going to win?
Dec 2020 · 221
bye bye 2020
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
Doot do, doot doot - News FLASH from boredom central.

I’ve got extra New Year plans.
My Ladybug & Cat Noir Onesie pajamas are at the ready.
I’ve got all six Totinos pizza roll flavors and a 12 pack of Grape soda.
My Nintendo switch is charged and I have 4 screens for Zooming.
If you have something for me - slip it under the door.
I’m staying up this New Years to be sure 2020 leaves.

*Happy New Years everyone!
I've never been so happy to see a year go - bye bye 2020
Dec 2020 · 531
2020 blues
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I'm wearing the same old clothes,
binging the same ol’ shows,
seeing the days anastomose.
and waiting for my vaccine dose.

I’m humming the same ol’ songs,
dreading the rerun dawns,
trying to at least appear strong,
but becoming angry and withdrawn.

I'm tired of the same old faces,
of being stuck in these boring places,
of feeling my nights are wasted,
and dreaming of friends embraces.

I'm writing the same ol’ verse.
becoming increasingly terse,
knowing it could be worse,
waiting for the end of this curse.
the 2020 blues is the new national anthem
Dec 2020 · 159
toxic relationships
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
Sorry, mom says I can’t
kiss you - even with grape,
Lysol, safety lipstick  =/

Harsh pandemic facts
and parents stand against us.
What a hazardous waste!
toxins dampen endorphins passions - lets face it, it's simply not going to happen  =/
Dec 2020 · 253
holiday kisses
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
(Senryus)

I've never had a
new years kiss, or an under
the mistletoe kiss.

But I have had
Hersey's kisses - which I think
are spectacular!
There are so many holiday treats - has anyone enjoyed them ALL?
Dec 2020 · 433
licorice
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
(Senryus about crushes)

I'd never say to
a guy "Oh, and by the way,
have a crush on you."

I'd never stalk my
crush on the Internet - that's
what our friends are for.

Never let a guy
treat you like licorice - you're
a red gummy bear.
Crush: an intense infatuation for someone unattainable or inappropriate.
Dec 2020 · 651
Stupid cupid
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
(A Senryu poem)

Oh Cupid, God of
desire & ****** love, please,
next time hit us both.
Attractions can be hit or miss
Dec 2020 · 209
Christmas bliss
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I’m under the Christmas tree like a present,
yeah, to rifle packages with my name on them,
but I’m caught, transfixed, looking up through the shrine
forgetting myself in delight at this multi-color heaven.

I’ve never lost my wonder at fulgid Christmas lights -
driving around gawking at decorations half the night.
If only the world could stay like this - but we can’t
sustain rhapsody - we can only trespass on bliss.

Merry Christmas Everyone!
Merry Christmas Everyone!
Dec 2020 · 271
the sun
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I thought I knew the sun.
I thought I had it tamed.

When it looked dim and weak,
I’d just blow on the flames.

But now my faith is shaken -
perhaps I was mistaken.

It seems the sun has ghosted me.
I miss those rays that roasted me.
Winter has begun and now I miss the sun
Dec 2020 · 86
blind spots
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I have several toxic habits - I know - because I read this article on the web.
It’s a miracle I’m not an axe murderer, based on what the experts said.

I use “should” biased judgements - when things go amiss.
I think about the future, when settling down to rest.
I obsess on defining the “best part” in each of my experiences.
I often think in poetic terms  - which has driven wise men delirious.
I have nova bursts of interest - which escalate into crushes.
I keep a mental list of incidents which, if left unmanaged, lead to grudges.

The flaws go on and on - God, I simply am a mess.
I need to face my many flaws so that they might be addressed.

Do you think anyone is ever perfect?
Is it like playing whack-a-mole?

So that no one ever ends up perfect - they simply end up old?
It's hard sometimes to recognize my own faults - they're like blind-spots.
Dec 2020 · 214
holiday choices
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
Can we celebrate, do we have that choice,
to fight against sour momentum and rejoice?

Of course we do - there've been vaccine changes,
hope hangs like fragrance, so let’s be courageous.

Forget anger, forgive old grudges and stop tiring judgments,
catch those old phantoms in the open and sever the attachments.

Stop, drop and roll - this year necessitated endurance -
be honest and transparent, tell children and inform parents:

This year’s celebration will need to be realistic -
but Christmas '21 we’re goin’ BALLISTIC!
holiday wonders await the willing - be willing.
Dec 2020 · 259
2020 holidays
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
My room is a mess - it's an archaeological record of boredom.
Christmas, Christmas, come on Christmas.
It's 4 days 'til Christmas. Why don't I go to my room and do NOTHING??

The clock ticking sounds like a large horse clomping over cobble stones.
Last year there were wall-to-wall parties - so many that you had to carry a change of clothes with you.

In 2020 there's nothing to do - but I don't have to tell YOU (my reader). Except for the whole school thing. Nothing to do but study. I read, on that webber-net thing that 38% of students are failing.

Because of the pandemic - oh, not that virus monster - the boredom pandemic - the London-tower-lonely state of slow-motion distress that’s invisibly gripped us all.

Can we hold on people? The hard-won, delicious truth is that there’s hope. Vaccines - a bunch of 'em. Is it possible to let worries go this season and simply treasure our lives?

Just this month we have or had Hanukah, Kwanza, Festivus.
Hopefully, you made wild, monkey-love on December 14th - that was "International Monkey Day" - I couldn't join you - of course - but I'm just sayin.  =]

Look it up - almost every day is some kind of celebration or invent your own - if Ice Cream Day, Lemon Cupcake Day, Go Caroling Day or Crossword Puzzle Day don't do it for ya.

The important gifts, this year, are fun, attention and love.
2020 is almost over - can we have some well earned fun? God, I hope so.
Merry Christmas! .. or Crossword Puzzle Day.
Dec 2020 · 445
spinnings
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
The earth is twirling,
oh, God, make it stop.
If it keeps on spinning,
I think I’ll throw up.

The way Earth orbits the sun,
it's dangerous and thoughtless.
Can we just knock it off?
It's making me nauseous.
oh, sure, like science can explain EVERYTHING
Dec 2020 · 130
the closet
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
They say they run in packs
with the mighty unicorn.
The stories bridge the boundary
between faith and Internet ****.

Oh, the elusive boyfriend.

I thought I’d hidden one in the closet,
but I rummaged top to bottom
then remembered - argh! -
I lost him last August!
Not only are boyfriends hard to find - in a pandemic - but what are you going to with one anyway??
Dec 2020 · 111
the dark potential
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
(a Senryu string poem)

High school girls are just
thoughtless and vague - too ****
dumb to be afraid.

Trusting too quickly
- believing things that are said
- unaware of risk.

Small and powerless,
chickens cooped from feral foxes
- peaches for picking.

So accompany
me on walks, to the store and
guard me like a penny.

Look - we're women
- junior grade - and conscious
of dark potential.

Breasted Americans
face a dark rainbow of threats
- we are mortal.

But ANY of us can
encounter unscheduled evil
like nightmares from hell.

Yes, that means you rough
tough males who glide through life as
if untouchable.
someday this isolation will end and freedom will mean going places (thank God).
Dec 2020 · 156
fully charged
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
This is an age old story
it could be a country song.
Some may find it enchanting
while others say it’s wrong.

I like home automation
and the feeling of control
the response to simple voice
commands seems to satisfy my soul.

I got into it slowly
but it soon got out of hand
when on a cold black-Friday
I bought an automated man.

His physique wasn’t all that defined
and I wouldn’t have called him handsome
but soon I was trolling the aftermarket
for jail-broken enhancements.

He can’t take his eyes off me,
his omelettes are the best,
and when he puts his arms around me
- he never needs to rest.

My mom appreciates him,
his work ethic has her impressed.
She has no idea how handy he is
as he helps me get undressed.

My friends say, “Wow, you look HAPPY!”
I feel I’m blooming like a flower.
I anxiously wait for him to fully charge
and we have unscheduled hours.
this is a fantasy piece - no one’s selling "automated men" on Amazon - I checked
Dec 2020 · 381
secret signs
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
How well I know this place, I’m trapped in these interiors.
I refuse to step on cracks and I avoid the hateful mirrors.

I’m watching like a cat the many motions of the heavens.
I’m straining like a witch to extend my intuition.

I'm looking for hidden patterns in odd numbers that show up.
I’m sorting out the tea leaves that my mom leaves in her cup.

I’m sure I hear the whispering of the moon on predawn walks.
I think I’d hear the angels - should one decide to talk.

Oh, God, I need some answers - I've become a hopeless mess -
show me secret signs or release it to the press.

You know I wait impatiently, with several billion friends,
for my vaccine miracle - when will this virus end?!
virus, virus, virus. Less Virus, less 2020 - come on 2021!
Dec 2020 · 694
old fashioned Christmas
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
It’ll be an old fashioned Christmas,
with Santa due down the chute.
I bet he Purells his reindeer,
and Lysols his hazmat suit.

It’s an old fashioned Christmas.
We’ll all have on our masks,
and our muffled yuletide carols,
will be just like seasons past.

We’ll observe all the guidelines.
We’ll eat six feet apart.
We’ll have disinfectant under the mistletoe,
and keep safety in our hearts.

Sure, it’s an old fashioned Christmas.
One unique to the times.
The love this year might be careful,
but the feelings are genuine.
Merry Christmas! *muffled voice under mask*
Dec 2020 · 157
the wait...
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
You called me "temperamental."
You said I’m “taciturn and I'm spoiled.”

We were in the crowded cafeteria,
so refused to become embroiled.

I wanted to say you’re conceited -
a know-it all , with stupid hair and
between your ears there’s nothing there.

But what you said stuck in my head.
No more texts! I'm ignoring your thread.

I have things to tell you - to your face -
and that would be Monday (I'll have to wait).

You think you’re hot - but NO, your NOT
- and I'm done helping you study.
Your jokes are lame
your kisses tame
and by the way - your dog is ugly.
turns out, he doesn't know me at ALL
Dec 2020 · 136
Oh brother
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
(tales from the viral lock-down)

Brice (my brother) is cutting through what smells like a stack of cinnamon french toast.
My stomach growls at the aroma like a hunting cat.
I jump out of bed, grab my robe and rush excitedly to the kitchen.
I see the pan in the sink.
gasp “You didn’t MAKE me any!!?” I accuse, in indignant shock.
Brice, looking up, “JESUS, get on some fu-kin' clothes!”
He waves his arms like he's fighting a flock of birds.
I look down, “GOD, I AM wearing clothes, you PERV! - and a bathrobe”
"Who says THAT’S a bathrobe??” He says, sarcastically.
Me: “Kiki Montparnasse!”, I say, indignantly.
My mom enters to fill her coffee cup.
Brice: “Will you please tell YOUR DAUGHTER to get on some clothes?”
My mom inspects me and I twirl for my audience.
“That IS a little sheer”, she pronounces.
ARGH!, FINE,” I say, before stomping off to change.
I start to fume."HE CAN GO ALL OVER IN BOXER SHORTS BUT I CAN'T WEAR A BATHROBE?!!"
“And HE didn’t make EXTRA TOAST”, I yell back in pointed accusation.
“Get to work,” (on more toast) I hear her tell him, just before I slam my door.

another day…

My brother Brice is fighting with his girl-friend on the phone.
Of course, I'm only hearing 1/2 the conversation - but he sounds like a ****.
Me: "apologize," I silently, slowly, exaggeratedly mouth
Brice: "fu-kovv," he mouths back, silently
Me: "I'm your sister," I say, "I get to boss you around, besides, I KNOW what’s BEST"
A minute later - He actually apologizes!!! And they make up.
(I dance around the room like Rocky)
siblings may fight, but we know EVERYTHING about each other and stick up for each other with anyone else
Dec 2020 · 112
shopping lists
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
(a poem in Senryus)

You don’t have to count,
when you lose a boyfriend, you
know. There was just one.

He was gone before
I knew it - he wasn’t, you know,
******* or anything.

For a moment I
toy with saying, “Alexa, add
rope to my shopping list."

In High School boyfriends
come and go - it's like shopping
- where you return things.
shopping is SO much fun - don't you think?
Dec 2020 · 365
furrocious
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
My cat’s become so critical
of the pieces that I write
he kneads to express his opinion
and he always thinks he’s right.

He twitches his ear-itation
if I don't write in Senryus.
If what I write displeases him
he’s under the bed for refuge.

He’s worse than many teachers -
his reviews are seldom neutered -
he pointedly wags that twitchy tail
or cat-calls disapproval.

He laid across my laptop
for half the afternoon
‘til I promised an ode to tuna
which earned purrs of hallelujah!
it's hard to find an audience in a pandemic
Dec 2020 · 149
the stranger
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
She knew she wasn't the
first shy girl conned beneath
a scintillant moon.

Why do boys lie so
- inveigling fabrications
- hoping to impress?

Why interlace fibs,
when, from first sight, she had longed
for his carnal lips?

Now doubts danced - as if
evil spirits were called and
asked to watch, and gloat.

"I can't talk to you
again," she said, "after all
- you’re a stranger."

She doubted he cared
- she doubted everything, like
she had a soiled heart.
What's worse than finding out you've been lied to - tricked?
Dec 2020 · 159
sentenced
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I wear my heart on paper
Ink fills my veins like blood
reviews cut like a razor
but I’m addicted to the pen.

I pump words with every heartbeat
I hoard paragraphs in my room
I take interjections like a ******
I wear verbs like a parfum.

I’m feeling the contractions
as I erase awkward phrases
I write sad poems that feel like skin.
and fill sheets of diary pages

I blush at lurid pronouns
that I conjure then,
I consider putting word-play off
but I’m sentenced to the pen
.
.
.
*Inspired by Michael R. Burch's poem: At the Natchez Trace
writing can be a torture almost as bad as not writing
Dec 2020 · 233
boom
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I’m overthinking,
tired of the endless waiting,
about to blow up.

Even my mom sees it.
She starts some cutting remark
only to pull it back.

Me: "Argh! I have this anger, just below the surface."
My brother: "Uhh, it's not that far below the surface."
The universe is rubbing me wrong this week - and it's only Tuesday.
Dec 2020 · 687
the ride
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
The trick is to take
your eye off the ball - forget
and enjoy yourself.

When you realize
- ultimately, life's a
suicide mission.

Do the flowers fret
even as they bloom? Are swans
gracefully worried?

Ignore that small voice
- enjoy life's pleasures, thrills,
and delight in love.
Let birds vex and the squirrels strive for immortality.
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