An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass

Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps

Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying

Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”

That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of stupid-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress

Some images just stay with you, ya know?

July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***

He loves me, he loves me not
We're meant to be, or so I thought
My heart is broken, the pain is real
I long for peace, from all I feel

I fake a smile, so no one knows
I mimic strength, lest weakness shows
I refuse surrender, I stand and fight
I must succeed, and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart, and I can breathe again

Minutes into hours, hours into days
The love I held so tightly, starts to fade away
The pain begins to lessen, the tears no longer fall
Seemed misery was forever but it's not that way at all

Those nights you haunt my dreams
Are now few and far between
When memories overtake me, I know I'll be alright
I know now what to do....and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart and I can breathe again
Yes, I can breathe again.

Why do I write?
It’s not because I enjoy the
Pen on the paper, the faint
Smell of ink on my hands or
The sound of a page being torn
From a notebook.
It’s not because my fingers feel at
Home on the keyboard,
Because the clacking of the letters comforts me,
Or because the sight of a blank Google Doc
Excites me.
It’s not even because writing makes
Me happy, or that I find particular
Joy in it, inspiring me to release
My thoughts into the world.
No.
It’s because these thoughts are
Lions pacing in their cage,
Growling under their breath,
Wanting to be let out; no,
Needing to be released and free to
Roam wild, and not be restrained by
Any human contraption.
Same with my words; they refuse to
Stay trapped in my head, they must
Come out somehow.
It’s a need.
Why do I write?
You might as well ask,
Why do I breathe?

The 
Pomegranate 
Bleeds for you,
Excretions of red juice.
Eat its seeds, let life breed
In your stomach it will brew,
Like love birthed fresh and new.
Tasty lips with bitter kiss
Heart beats miss
My skin splits.
Emotion
Emits...

The pomegranate bleeds for you,
My heart, it's bleeding too.

-SLuR

There is a shift in the air
        a divergent current, before an
              outpouring of shredded clouds.

                                   There is a difference
                             in the air
                                    said our reflections,
                                             irises caught in thin veins.

           There are creases upon my dried conscience
                  the sadness tears out of my eyes
                                       Threading my past memories
                              into cycles of fallacies.

                                         Yes, it must be something in the air
                                               the air we both grew up in
                                                 the breaths we smeared upon
                                                          birthday candles months apart.

                                                         ­            We had the same troubles,
                                                                   corresponding doubles,
                                                        ­    the same ventilation of lungs.

               Then the past settled, we grew up
                            our face darkened,

                          So I let out a flash of laughter
                                                your hissing thoughts closely pursuing it
                                                              ­       like two strands of lighting
                    Perforating the piers of my gut
Sure to switch off
                                           My Volatile Heart.