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 Sep 2016 Ella Gwen
Our houses, spitting-distance close
Feet propped on railing
cold beer with fresh lime
watching robins flung in flocks
to the failing of August

Too close-- Really?
John, on his cell
is fu_king the world again
from his garage
Why not-- squeeze in pool or a dog
Lawn mowers and **** whips tune in to whine
late Friday afternoon 'bout dinner time

Clinking silver, scrapes of plates
Running water for suds
through open windows to the thunk of pots
Doors bang behind on pathway to garbage
or joint in the woods
wafting over all
wordless squeals of delight from autistic child

Meanwhile, the odor of nail polish removes
all doubts of--
lodging low and toxic
as the sun dissolves orange
in its acetone setting

Kids playing Man Hunt as darkness falls
Leaping hedges, slamming gates
No yards can contain these kinetics
restless legs, furtive minds

Muttering wind chimes
from four different porches
above the drone of highway
a half mile yawns

Pieces of talk
flipping the crickets
Why or who or at what time?

Other-worldly glow from The Mall
dims stars
outlines mountains
brightens the horizon behind

Mosquitoes coming in for a landing
In "The Plot" section of Scranton, all the houses are really close.  Built by  poorer miners, mostly between 1920 and 1950,  it has an old residential feel to it-- nothing like today's sprawling suburbs.  Most of these homes had only four or five rooms, originally with "outdoor plumbing," if you know what I mean.

Oddly this is a very stable neighborhood, isolated somewhat by the Lackawanna River on three sides.  Gossip, of course runs rampant, but people look out for one another.
 Sep 2016 Ella Gwen
 Sep 2016 Ella Gwen
Burgundy, the color of a dress I’ve never worn
to an occasion that never occurred

Velvet lined
Where lies the violin
There lies its song

The heart of fiddle strings
that bare of arms
That heart that sings, speaks, no, yells
to the hands that can’t respond!
to a mind that can’t remember
I was drowning in some future
not a violinist’s

“Alive with Pleasure”
read the billboard slogan for cigarettes
behind the happy couple
running out into their future

Forcing the hand of marriage
Waving goodbye to my life
from a rooftop in Scranton
as the wind hauled my laundry three city blocks
dumping my unders on Saint Luke’s sills
sailing my sheets up Wyoming Avenue

I lay on the tar and pebble roof
watching pigeons swirl
listening to traffic pass on the street below
The moment you know you’ve made the mistake
you can’t return from....

Wherever my towels have blown?
I wish them well....
Love cannot grow where none was planted.  I tried.
it takes 8 hours and 1 minute to get to Gansevoort Street

they say to truly love someone
you must know them through all four seasons

barricaded branches prevented you from coming February 6th

black leather interior seemed like the perfect place

to evaporate
like a cigarette outside Baby Huey
punch holes in your arm like a belt
so a finger can’t trace it

without being caught
hornets under Dixie cups
razored wings carve out this body
phantom knee, nerve extension
push your thumb into its stump

regret pushing the willow
walking the length of dead grass to a childhood hub
a reminder of which sits on your bedside
as an 8-year-old pilot
spearheading a UAV to TOR

Dundas Square sees you in an amber light.
 Aug 2016 Ella Gwen
I am not strong
as synaptic junctions
stutter and fail
and blood pulses hot
against thin arterial walls.

I cram sticky little secrets
into the space between
the mirror and the wall
and put on my best
**** eating grin-
hiding behind words
that slip and lukewarm

I am not strong
as outlines blur into
shimmering watercolor
and my hands grip the railing
for a fleeting sense of
functional equilibrium.

I give you only the things
that I deem worthy of letting go-
only the meek and sickening
remembrances of insanity,
the things that I can
romanticize aloud.

I am not strong
as my brain fills with
black thoughts and
death wishes like saccharine.

I am not strong
but you've never asked me to be.
You know that muscles pull
and that I only have the strength
to push.
You haven't tried to iron out
the lines of my smile yet
nor made demands
or promises that lie unkept.

I am not strong,
but perhaps
there is something
 May 2016 Ella Gwen
Luna Fides
i once read that
there are names for the spaces
in between
body parts,
architectural structures,
musical notes.

names for spaces
as if they are


and not just

buccal vestibule of the maxilla
is a space between the cheek and lateral face

or piscina
is a space in a wall near an altar

F A C E are the spaces
in between
the lines of a staff.

spaces with names
because they are part of something.
even if technically they are
"spaces" and not just


so i think their names suits them well.
because at least you know
what to call them.

but there is also a space
between you and me
it bears no name
and i think

this suits us
just as well.
 Apr 2016 Ella Gwen
Julie Butler
you're about as
quiet as lightning
& just as much ;
you put the light in it
I'm counting down from two-thousand,
quitting breakfast and everything early
that bird can keep it like:
what am I supposed to do if I can't have you
what kind of a sudden is it breathing cause I have to \
****** the gasps I caught you stealing-
Saturday mourning on Wednesday's feelings
I like Monday cause, Friday's fleeting

I own the rest of my hair, you know
you own my body
I'm as open as the screen-door you broke
& you did handstands for someone else already
otherwise I'd listen, cause
I can't find the lyrics in splitting
can't find the best in bleeding
that love was airplane-waiting
that love was
silent begging, restless leg\
restless blinking
rip the
day out my weeks baby
till all I keep lie sleeping
take me back to "I didn't see it coming"
take me back to that night you thought you loved me
 Dec 2015 Ella Gwen
 Dec 2015 Ella Gwen
when the moon rose high in the sky
like a white tiger ready to pounce
he said breathe
and when the sun peeked out behind grey clouds
like something hot and new and immortal
still he said, just breathe
and when the rain came and swept everything away
including the white pearls
picked from oysters falling in love
still he whispered,
just breathe,
the moon is not what you think
and the sun can bear more than you know
and the rain
will bring everything to you
when the river is ready to flow
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