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 Aug 2014 Prodigal Son
Chloe
Do not look at me and say,
“Goodbye.”
As our bodies pass and go
through the transparency of space.
The hushing scrape of concrete
rests in such parting words.
weighing me down with doubt.
“Goodbye.”
It sounds so final
like the last exhalation in life,
or the flutter of a paper heart
mimicking a white flag.
“Goodbye.”
It’s reminiscent of loss.
 Aug 2014 Prodigal Son
Chloe
Run, carousel horse, run.
Try to understand the circles you’ve spun.

Staked and anchored to docile motion.
Acting out this ordered commotion.

The wooden platform on which you stand.
Turns to the song of repetition and demand.

Bright flashing lights and epileptic episodes.
Rusted machinery breathing out chemical corrode.

Dressed in painted costumes of false grandeur.
A perverse imitation of true splendor.

Children come to watch you prance.
They scream and order that you dance.

They yank on the reigns with savage cheer.
They poke and **** and hiss in your ear.

You’re nailed upon this dizzy ride.
Built from material and empty pride.

You live in a swirl of regret.
Time comes, it goes, then, you forget.

You’re an instrument of attraction.
Something you don’t feel even a fraction.

But, like clockwork you whistle a tune.
Of smiles and laughter and undercurrents of doom.

Run, carousel horse, run.
Try to undo the damage you’ve done.
An old piece I found in an old notebook.
 Aug 2014 Prodigal Son
Chloe
His dilated pupils
wide and dark as they were
brought to mind black holes.
Their pull was irresistible
its gravity already
enveloping my mass.
Leaning forward as if
to add me to him
I cautiously peered
over the lip in his eyelids
to the tunnels of a man-made abyss.
For a minute I stared
legs dangling, fingers tangling
the sheets on his bed
thinking about choices and paths
and set destinations.

A line of white sand points at me.
Arranged just so upon the glass shelf.
I roll and unroll the twenty
into then out of a tube absently;
contemplating the barrier I knew
would shatter into nothingness
if the sand was inhaled backwards
like it could rewind time.
But I wanted black holes
in my eyes to explore
the vastness of it all.

Time rewinds, short circuits, and I’m here
in the cutting clarity of awake.
It feels good.
A lightning storm of sparks
crackling against my neurons.
It feels real good.

Licking my finger I trap the
white substance between
the ridges on my fingerprint
and scrub at my gums
enjoying this new-found better.

Throughout the night I
gouge tally marks of coke
into the walls of my nostril
and douse my liver
with shots of Tequila
getting increasingly more lost
in the eyes of my reflection.
 Aug 2014 Prodigal Son
Chloe
Rebellion smells like apples, cinnamon
and *****.
On a gravel road swallowed whole by
a surrounding forest of lush greens
we stood in opposition, revolution
firearms nestled in our hands.

We rebelled against alcoholism.
Drunk, amber soldiers stumbled across
the uneven surface of the log they vacated.
Our bullets shattered them one by one.
The rifle’s kick back slammed against me.
The cracking echo of each gunshot
filled the hollow chiseled in my chest
and tenderized my brain.    

Shards of hard cider and hard liquor
spattered the dirt; the bright red
of the Angry Orchards’ labeling
bleeding war into the earth and grit.

We searched for survivors.  
The air was perfumed with Cinnamon Apple
and *****.
The soft spice of autumn and harvest
wafted gently up my nose
followed by the sharp scent of
disinfectant, hospitals, stainless steel.
It was the smell of *****, my default.

Nudging a dusty bottle neck with my toe
I couldn’t help but think back to  
the angry, open-mouthed kisses
I once shared with my bottles
early in the morning until late at night.
A furious thirst surged through me.
I still wanted a drink.
it's like I have to die,
for you to notice me,
and it hurts because,
all you have to do,
is cry a little,
and I would be by your side.

(e.k.j.)
 Aug 2014 Prodigal Son
meekkeen
I hope the rain sinks deep into the blackened cracks of the street
Outside my house there stands alone a naked ghost—
No flesh or bone.
It flies up to my window’s screen
And through its fickle mesh
Façades are no more,
Yet they are everything:
A story drags at the corners of your eyes
And the truth looms like the shadow under your
Chin up,
Chin. Up.
Positivity ephemeral as the fierce electricity in the night sky—
May I become a lightning rod: “The Light Catcher.”
May I keep what’s left of you,
The rest of you…?
And, m-might you burn forever?

Nothing will taste as sweet
With you
Gone.
 Aug 2014 Prodigal Son
Mokomboso
If we had one defining feature
It would be that our species has the ability
to hate itself?
Or do wasps agree on how the earth would rejoice if they'd gone?
Does the cat lament about the way he treats wrens?
Does the elephant look back in shame, at the flattened forest path she creates?
Does the young, rebellious chimp stage an anti-war protest?
Does the dog shun his peers for being too eager to please?
Do some of them reject their roots so give cynical lectures on youtube?
Do mosquitos ever facepalm at malaria and become vegans instead?
Why is it that we sit and wallow in our own self loathing?
Are we the only ones with this level of knowing?
I am a misanthropist, as many of us are
As a result we organise ourselves into causes, animal welfare, global warming
You would never see a rat refraining from procreating
In order to lighten the load of his growing population
Though the lion cub feels guilt upon fighting with his sister
He wouldn't think with melancholy it's just in his nature
Is there a bonobo temperence movent? Do they believe they'd get **** done
If they'd be a bit more prudent?
There's something bittersweet about this self hate
We realise our stupid mistakes, yet we feel lonely
The misanthropist gags at her conspecifics, their human ignorance
Yet alienates herself in the process
We know how we **** up the world, it might just be our only unique feature. Everything else we do is just a matter of scale.
She’s a fantastic disaster
masking facts that matter
In a sense she’ll be there after
With her grace, flowers and laughter
Be sure not to bow too fast
or forget to look right past her
With a word she’ll have you captured
entangled, mangled and mastered.
god-like fingers
I could kiss you
twice in a lifetime

god-like feature
I want to see you
in my doorframe
4 am

god-like lips
I can hear you
almost say
what I wish for

god-like eyeballs
saturn ringing
bells on my own
holy chapel

god-like flavour
can I taste it?
just a sip of
you perfect soul

turn the weather
turn me over
turn the table
make me stutter

you're everybody and everyworld to me
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