Yesterday I killed
A Kool-Aid spoon
I did not use him
As intended
The pan of popcorn
Was too hot
It broke apart
His structure
And left his
Stretching yellow strands
Throughout
Our snack
There was no way
To save it
Or remold his head
To bring him back
I had to hide
Him from my kid
If she had seen
His melting
But still smiling face
She would have
Sobbed
Without restraint
But then
Last night
She found out
And she did
Oh, how she did
-a.r.
Happiness
Seeping from me
A momentary reverie
A giddy me
A detoxing
Clearing my pores
And emptying
The years of grime
Built up in me
I’m jubilant
And bubbling
I breathe it in
The steamy me
It’s cleaning me
To gleaming me
And leaving room
For being me
Revealing pure
Unbridled me
Buoyant
But temporarily
I am brand new
Untouched and free
An exposed layer
Of virginity
Oh newborn joy
Oh what will be
With this untested
Cleansed
Immunity
-a.r.
Painting: Arming Oneself With Immunity By Patrick Sean Kelley
|A|ddiction ConstaNt
in th(e) foRmula of Us
Only (x) changEs
-amdr*
Photo: Professor Edward Frenkel in ‘Rites of Love and Math’
Check out the tags to find the (hidden) meaning and mathematical symbols in my haiku. Have fun…I sure did!
This crimson tell
I know too well
Crawls quick
Across my chest
Unwilled
It always starts
With a skipping heart
Stripping secrets from meat
Just to surface my flesh
Blushing
Too powdery a word
For this all too human
Trait disturbed
Sanguine anxieties
Splattered and splayed
On my neck and face
Naked
I cannot escape it
This chronic tell
I know so well
Will color me true
Until my grave
-a.r.
Artwork: Moonlit by Angela Kennedy,
Pennystamper on Etsy
All of life is carried in an echo
With my ear pressed against the border
I can hear the whole of it
A Morse tap in a metal tub being filled
Our playful yelps across a canyon, to no one
The return of whale whistles in the sea
Just the right spot in a naked room
Grieving mothers, fathers, on battlefield streets
That first step in an abandoned stairwell
Laughter bounding back across time
The popping of corks, balloons, celebration expectations
A beast at night beckoning to be let in, or out
Or simply for the sake of it
The screaming of tattered lovers finally falling apart
The clinking of chains across oceans
“Mommy” from the mouths of babes in need
Chirping from a ready pot of tea, or coffee
Whispers of words we shared louder than we thought
Plumbing, garbage trucks, busses, responders
Clanking, groaning, squealing, siren songs
Rescues of a modern age from chaos
Speeches from leaders and villains, or both
The roaring of crowds in response and revolt
Clicking of keys and keyboards and screens
The ticking of time wound tight but slowing
An empty shovel clinking against packed stony earth
The musical memories of this world we share
And what we chose to make with them
-a.r.
Photograph by Emir Ozashin
Reposted for my little echo on her 10th birthday…may your own echoes carry advocacy, humanity, ferocity, creativity, and compassion.
Beware of regressive nostalgia
You may have “the way” figured out
But then, a new day comes along
And soon, “Get off my lawn!”
Becomes the sound spilling quick from your mouths
-a.r.
Painting by Jessica Foox
The inability to change with the times, to see new ideas, to have the courage to step outside the system, will inevitably leave you behind. You may be comfortable…but you will be comfortably archaic, comfortably obsolete.
I’ve had the wind knocked
Out again, perhaps it’s time
To stay deflated
-a.r.
Sculpture: Deflating Human Series
by Francesco Albano
A fly landed light on my hand
So we sat still together awhile
And when the rain fell
It seemed just as well
For neither of us took off to get dry
-a.r
Painting: A Spring Rain by Candace Primack
I let him in
Because she lead the way
Bringing him as close to me as I could bear
A corner stare
He does not dance
But waits, as if we both have time
To afford me this with her while I am able
A minuet of heat too soon unstable
His chill will have its way
One day, his steady slow approach is set
For now she keeps me moving, feigning immortality
As if his ghastly grasp is not already hovering
You see
I had to let him in
To watch, so at the end I could say
I also let her have her way
-a.r.
Reposted for a Twitter friend, who dances with life while death hovers closely…keep dancing with her my friend…he will approach soon enough.
My skin it does not want me in it
My flesh now rejects me outright
My bones they are being rebellious
My guts are refusing the grind
My brain is parading the reasons to care
My life-force compels me to fight
My story seems written regardless of choice
My breath; she pauses these things with her sigh
-a.r.
Photography: To Ride on the Curled Clouds By Nicola Taylor
sometimesihatemycat 