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I lit a fire tonight
upon my grandfather's old typewriter.

I kindled it with all of his old pencils,
his favorite ballpoint pen,
his yellow-paged novels,
his newspaper cutouts of his past successes.

Hell, I even threw in the bookshelf.

And, just like that,
it was mortal history.
I did it for the **** of it.

I mean, if it was REALLY important,
it would be sprawled all over webpages.
Sprawled all over online searches and
digital databases.

Trust me, grandpa,
the future looks much better in High Definition.
 Jun 2013 Sara Loving
Cara D
Safe
 Jun 2013 Sara Loving
Cara D
To another day
passing like the parched foliage
dangling from the roofs in
the ***** Bronx

left of the ferry,
right is the skyline
doubled three times,
cloaked in solar panel
glass and shimmering
against the smoggy array of light
that
will
quit—
in due time.

Daddy, sweet
East River father,
where is the little
meatball you had grounded
up for eyes.
For a Roman nose
and Mafian stubble
when your Sicilian tongue
was clipped at age five.

For English-Only stamped on the roof
of your waste factory
of a mouth.

For the neo-tongue that
was bred liked
strong As
and
young ****;
And copious liquor upon
the grounds of your hiking
trips.

Mutation
       of
vile majesty.
Cannibalism of the **—

Buttons budding
for *******.

I saw your phantasm
figure, soiled in
dark tan, curve in
my lens.
Swallow the hazel
like a viscous sauce,
sweet, fresh.
A fuckable baby—
of five. You clipped
my tongue with now
cloying giggles and in the bunk bed,
red and ***,
like a locket, limbs

dangling out the sides, fleeing in
a fountainhead of
DO NOT.
Effaced by an amnesia.

The old man in my skull speaks,
I was thirty two days ago.

Now the IVs DRIPDRIP,
Chorus with the TICKTICKTICK.
You are the hour,
I am the minute
Hand.
You are slow, I must
go-go-go in compulsive haste.
Run for sixty,
start anew,
encore, solo, imbrued
with the days that twine the middle, framed in
white.
Forget.

The doctor parses the old man like an
obsolete phrase with theatric hands,
-touch-touch-
push,  press.
Then comes the Shakespearean
soliloquy:
He hasn’t the coverage.

The trigger as a glove of flesh
hits its target, quiets the machine,
puts me to sleep.

What is it that
I must do?
-become the platoon,
an infantry of sun-empired men.
Fight the shrapnel,
the blitzing of
scar tissue.
Become the fireman
with an axe wielded—
Scale the towers like cracks in a mountain.
Die from the smoke or
the spherical flames of the
planes that rode like the hooves
of a horse with bubonic pallor.
Fall like a worker
for stories down until
God, or some sadistic keeper
of this earth, slacks a noose
and reels me in like
a bluefin tuna, prized,

as you
salute. You ‘Nam
prevailer heralding
the lacy harlequins of corporeal
God’s pardon
on
you.

I am in
eternity from
the waist down,
object of the tight, frictiony
satisfaction you
almost indulged in.

To be a daughter, so sonly,
revoked of all features.
Stripped of the places
you liked to touch.
 Jun 2013 Sara Loving
N E Waters
This aching churns within me where happiness will bubble
T-minus 5...4...

My writing is ****. There's no art here anymore.
Sob
******* onto paper.

Everyone relates to interpretation, but inkblots have no soul.
Stains, waiting.
Sunlight cannot creep where darkness cannot grow.

Coin-flip. Mind-trip. Sad rag-time beat out, off beating
beat poet beats drums no one can hear.
There's nothing here.

Jeckyl wishes Hyde would hide, run away
never come back--
I'll never forget how much I lack
I've cracked, back fractures breaking
too much ecstasy--not enough--You're shaking

is that me?
can't be.

This desperation
this need to cling to SOMETHING
it's worse every time--it's cheap when I rhyme
I can't ride out these mistakes, can't fake that I'm ok

I seem to be doing fine.
but its one
or the other in my mind

-NOT SO YOU COULD THROW LIGHTSWITCH RAVES-

can't be saved
keep repeating
I wish I could be saved but
they never let me have my pony.
No white horses
No dreaming

So obsessed with this wheel I keep spinning
the only thing I seem to be able to do is change direction.

tedious, no?
It's what we're working with.

All I ever wanted was somebody to love me
now...when it comes to be
it just makes me more crazy
how can someone love me?
it doesn't make sense.
I go to rip off your mask and I take off your face--

surrounded by rotting skin
searching for a way to end
so how can I begin?
 Feb 2013 Sara Loving
heavy bored
I have a tattoo of Oregon on the back of my neck
so when your attachment issue
physically manifests itself on my bed
and you flip me over
so you can "hit it from the back"
you'll see the sharp contrast
of the black outline against my skin
I hope it reminds you
that I have a home
a mother, a brother, and two dogs
that are more excited about me than you are
despite the height difference
I need you to know that I am in control
that you are a pawn in my game of recklessness
and if I was closer to the edge (my edge)
I would stop reading Descartes on Mondays
I would stop forgetting my name on Saturdays
I would take out the last 15 dollars
and 75 cents on my debit card
to buy a one-way ticket to the city
but until then
I will try to fill the abnormally large abyss inside of me
with your average-sized ****
while wondering, if tomorrow
I will be able to distinguish the hangover
from the self pity
(perhaps I'll get out of bed before one)
An ode to me you sing

Bright as candles
from a second story window
flickering prayerless faith

Shadowed fears,
writhing,
the pain screams in agony to itself
for I feel none

None
with those eyes above mine
that chest against this one
and your voice by my ears

Together breathless,
***** streetlamp reflections
beneath puddles
you pant my name from above me

Rasping ghost like
cigarettes as sound
pound
pound
pound
due to an addictive habit

But smoking aside
and all else upon which we’ve relied…
love is the flame
of which I’ve the most pride
in the rain-
darkness,     the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

your eyes half-
thrush
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

and
there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul.     rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered,and i

think
       of you
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