Immunity

•September 12, 2018 • Leave a Comment

The one
Being I believed in
Most betrayed me
The one
Being I did not believe in
Enough I betrayed
Never again
Will I
Waive off whispers
Hissing inside me
Never again
Will I
Run from rumblings
Wrapping around me
I finished
Your bottle of snake oil
By guzzling
And filled it with venom
For sipping

-me

38DDBF69-ABF5-4DFC-A7EC-97F306A2499E.jpeg
Photography by Brad MIller @ Monkey Haus

Remnants

•August 16, 2018 • 1 Comment

Clean
That scent
Late summer crisp
So I reached out
With wrinkled finger tips
To touch and trace
Sweet form and face of
Four
Perfect
White
Petals
But the flower…felt like…nothing
Much beneath my longing
Just matted rough
Grime-coated tuft
Like manmade shag
It might as well have been
Burnt orange or drab
Olive green
And should have
Reeked of
Nicotine

-me

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Now

•July 9, 2018 • Leave a Comment

I think
Not enough
Parchment
To pen and parse
My past
Years perhaps
I’ll peel
Flay and dry
Stretch flat
My flesh
And use these
Oozing tips
Of sizzling nerves
As living ink
Enough at last
To feel

-me

732A0DD6-41A9-4F4F-BC14-C67E104AF786
Painting: 1961 by Sophie Derrick

Cold

•June 26, 2018 • Leave a Comment

It’s true each leaving
Is a little death
With grieving acrid
On my breath

The shock of empty
In the air
As worms of numbness
Twine my hair

Inside this shrouding
I suspend
‘Till mourning’s lifted
Warmth again

-me

 

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Sculpture by Livio Scapella

 

Selfish Air

•June 14, 2018 • Leave a Comment

 

There is a disturbing stillness
To this easy-doing day
Not the pleasant pause
Of springtime sleep and dreaming
But that eerie summer stop
That settles thick the ether
Like the look of a dead thing
Mistaken for slumbering
Until a curious view reveals
Too many angles all gone wrong
Too few flinches at flies
And that same disturbing stillness
Hanging selfish in the air

-me

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Painting: The Dead Bird by Frederic Belaubre

Nothing More

•May 31, 2018 • Leave a Comment

A large raven lit not so lightly, descended
Quick by my bathroom windowsill
With his claws clicking, caws stripping
All movement from me, I froze to see
His jointed craggy feet held fast to gutters
And that once living (still alive?) thing
He roughly pecked, pulled hard apart
Perhaps a replica of my quivering heart
Pink and tightly gripped and glistening
Pieces of the thing dripped, dangled from his beak
As he flicked his head and turned to me
Our eyes met brief with equal parts, dark
Repulsion deep, and curiosity
Safe it seemed with the screen between
He returned unphased to his eviscerate prey
So I brushed my teeth and washed my face
While he washed down my meaty heart
with rainwater

-me

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Author of painting unknown

Honest Word

•May 13, 2018 • Leave a Comment

My child
is not
the “best thing
I have ever done”
He
is
not
finished
nor am I
and to declare that as fact
is a sappy fairytale
an empty delusion
at best
And
a reduction of me
and my highest possible form
of usefulness
to
sex object
receptacle
uterus
vessel
vagina
at worst
I will not do that
to either of us

-me

imagePainting: Motherhood By Veronica Jackson

A repost for this Mother’s Day.

 
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