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Nov 2020 · 83
Atomic Bomb
Emily Nov 2020
God, it's raining
ash embers and the noxious spiders
are jumping from
pole to rusted pole.

I really blew it up,
gosh golly,
I really blew it up.

I needed to. The venomous
blob was poisoning my mind,
but gosh golly!

The city is gone-- crater left where
church, congregation, lovers once
held hands under the blue moon.

The smoke bomb filled the sky
and it vaporized
all but the brown recluse.

Careful, that venom stings.
Oct 2020 · 383
Emily Oct 2020
I almost feel naked under your gaze.
That intense black eye stare, tar pits
reminiscent of the extinction of the dinosaurs.

You keep writing songs about yellow eyes,
and mine shine golden in the sun,
but I can't help but wonder if

you realize I'm extirpated by a gun
filled with rubber bullets bouncing
off my chest.

Topple me down.

Like grass sprouting through concrete,
I will break any boundary

to remind you that
you cannot get rid of me.
I live forever immortalized in amber.
i think i am in lava and it's really scary
Oct 2020 · 117
Paper Crane
Emily Oct 2020
I find myself in
tongue-tied love bug madness,
where eyes close without thought.


in spring blossoms form on
willow trees and my nose
begins to itch--
but I like it anyways

and if the night sky turned purple
in the moonlight, I know it would be
because I was traveling on a shooting star to you

and to your silver caresses in white sheets with
goosebumps mimicking the endorphins
coursing like dolphins in a wake.

If only the Gods could see us.
Who said creation was hard? There's
butterflies created in my stomach,

and I know that I want to fly but
I am only a paper crane
on a paper moon
with a false flight.
another draft....
Oct 2020 · 53
Emily Oct 2020
As natural as a wave crashing on a beach,
disturbance comes into my life and
I realize I am at the will of the tide;
not in control.
work in progress, thoughts
Sep 2020 · 467
Emily Sep 2020
A babies' cry is as natural as
the mushrooms uprooting--
two births into the world; life made anew.

But then there is

the rush of train tracks outside the window,
or the sound of a wolf howling at the moon,
the feeling of bare feet on dewdrops,
and watching a hawk sweep down to a lagoon

Dance the tango with me.
two left feet I am spores,
two left feet I am floating

and then I crash down,
burnt paper and burnt cigarettes,
I have a cut on my face,
I have cut tulips in a vase.

I wish I could stand in a mirror and
confront what I see
feminine physique, feminine plastique
two beady little eyes staring back at me

my eyes tell stories of deceit,
my eyes tell stories of no sleep,
when I look in the mirror I don't see me but a
bare-***** woman numb in her defeat

these suicidal lullabies in rose-colored dreams
are how I say hello to the world for I am
cruelly stuck in its'
twisted seams

one day I'll drink salt water and
float out to sea
Edna Pontellier,
I am the real tease.
Entropy - the gradual decline into disorder

Puhpowee- a  Potawatomi word that means the force that pushes a mushroom out of the ground, the unseen energy that animates everything

Edna Pontellier- the main character in Kate Chopin's The Awakening. The novel ends with Pontellier drowning in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico
Sep 2020 · 194
To describe it
Emily Sep 2020
It was the sound of wheels
on leaves under
a cool moon,

and then it was a breeze
floating past the crowd
under the eye of a watchful loon.

It was someone choking on a cherry pit,
poison ivy on ankles,
a trip, a fall, a slip.

Of course, I remember it.
The silent night
with eyes screaming for

the pedestal of my God
fell down, crashed marble
pieces left scattered.

I looked back
to see savior turned shadow
a ghost; visage of disaster.

I blinked and he who was king
instead rose to dust,
the fool now on the throne

like paint covering up rust.
Oh Messiah,
how the mighty fell,

and yet scribbled in the ashes
left words unspoken
the remnants of passion:

Love me
Love me
Love me
Have you ever fallen deeply for someone you only ever spent one night with?
Sep 2020 · 45
Wet and cold
Emily Sep 2020
I used to like the snow
because it felt like a kiss--
wet and cold.

Now, I'm not so sure
if I like the cold
because it reminds me
of sipping hot cider, apple-
scented cinnamon sugar,
delectable on the tongue. Which, then
brings me to the memory of the mint
leftover from gum on your lips,
wet and cold.

And, maybe I feel indifferent
about the cold now because
throwing up isn't so bad
when the sweat immediately cools
to a shiver down the spine.
And, it's like skeleton breath from cigarettes
feels so much better when smoking in the
wet and cold.

And, maybe now I realize
that I am at home in the snow
because the sacred geometry
of Fibonacci numbers and Mandelbrot’s
set float in the heavenly ice and they
remind me that I could never do math,
but I can at least feel
wet and cold.
work in progress

— The End —