Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
b 7d
Scrape the batter
Down the sides
Of the bowl
Fold the words in
Beat the words in
Until they’re smooth

We tried everything
We could
To scrub the bruises from
pale skin

But night brought out the worst
In us anyways



Mix one part
fear,
half a mindful of
stale
loneliness, and the need
to run barefoot
under a full moon

It's an old
family recipe

Unleashed creatures
We’d never seen
before


not in books
not in pools
of thoughts
that strangers left
behind


Woke with swollen eyes
Woke with memories of swimming
Through dark water
Chased by unwanted thoughts
in the form of serpents

biting at our fumbling feet
swallowing our half spoken
pleas;
our vows to be better

Woke to a bitter cup of coffee
tears on the brightest day of the week
b Feb 16
In the mornings
The verses
Are stacked like rocks
Each perfectly
Smooth

Each with their own story
Of how they came
From the sea
..
In the space between
Sleep and living
Creatures
My mind rests

In the space between
A bad dream
And a painted
Sun rise
My mind rests

I twist around
In a bed of sheets

When i wake
The rocks have fallen
One by one
Back into a
River bed

Too deep for wading
Too fast for treading

Out of reach again
b Aug 2019
Circulatory system
Of a horse
Who was once thought to
Be wild

Turns out he was
Fenced in
All along


Still, 40 quarts of blood
Pump through
Those thought-to-be-wild
Limbs


And the sun sets just right
on that russet colored crest
as a warm breeze tells
old lady willow


to sweep away the worries
of the day


(Tell me how I’ll
Know how to last
Even a day without you-
You can’t)
b Jun 2019
I try to keep dry eyes
Over the passes
‘round the bend
To endless fir

But Montana beats through
My already aching soul
and
Tears come steady like
That old river to the west

Crossing Ninemile and
I think of you
Laying in the tall bear grass
Remembering
Bitter root marks the way

'Lewisia Rediviva'

There’s a love song
On  morning’s breeze
And we’re on our way to the top of this
Sleeping town

The engine coughs but
We’ll make it home all right
Home on the other side of the
mountains
Painted blue with distance
Heart torn on the peaks
b May 2019
I’d like you to love me
Like water loves
Rushing into
Empty spaces
Clog the drain
With tattered rags
Flood the house
Already


I’d also like to
Be alone
Like the black wolf
Gone from natal pack
Roaming the prairies
Scanning with yellow eyes
Laughing with hungry mouth


I’d like to be many things
Most of which involve
Patches of grass
Patches of sun
Mornings with a little rain
b May 2019
Coffee spills again
This morning
Is a little bit
Colder

I woke
With words on my tongue
But haven’t figured out
How to pour them
Through a filter
Pour them into daylight

I tripped into
Your open mouth
As soon as spring
Turned the corner

I filled my pockets with
Lilacs
From a stranger’s
Yard
The smell reminds me
Of another time
Children of the dirt
Children of the mud


I tied my dog to
A rope
Near the overgrown
Garden with
Weeds that planted
Themselves so deep
They couldn’t be ripped up

I took a seat
And watched them
Grow
You ask me
through the screen door
When I'm coming home
b Apr 2019
Are you beautiful, or not?
I am my mother
With some added
Handfuls
Of my fathers
Madcap soul
I am dark hair
I am sad
Sometimes
I don’t know if
My bones
Were meant for this

I look at myself
With handfuls
Of my own hair
In my hands I look at myself
And see

The pigment swimming
In a pool at the bottom
Of my eyes
How did it spill out
Were they too full
Of the wrong
Kinds of thoughts?


I have collected my own tears
In gutters
For every year
On this earth
I think of my insides
As the  mud
That you walk
Through
Cautiously
On your way
To the other side of the river
I think of myself
When I am
In a different world
With different trees

I cry salt
I crave smooth stones
To give my palms
More meaning
I claimed another
dark-eyed beast
My best friend
She is wild and
Reminds me that
At the end of the day
We can curl up
And the sky is
Still ours

Where do you empty
Your thoughts?
My neighbor buried
His used oil
In the yard
Where raspberries grow
I can’t afford
To return
To all my patches of earth
That hold
Stories of me
But I can
Dig them up in dreams
Next page