You said: I was born and raised in Plato’s heaven.
And I agree, all sighs and sighs.
And I kiss and tell.
I watch the bite marks on my thighs
turn blue and yellow as we talk.
I hear the apostrophe in your throat
but this lamp holds too much heat for her.
It took eighteen years and three seconds
to fall from shade.
You said: you dreamt of a boat, that I drove like it was stolen.
And he speaks in riddles.
And in tongues.
I invite you over to a locked door
but I’m still lost in this jigsaw.
I see my luck finding solace
under the whir of the air conditioner,
so I reach out of this hot and lazy middle,
too centered.
Lint
Magician's Box
topic: haiku
no dish, no cable
in the metal soup
i scaled live wire
maddy
topic: "mother's childhood picture"
like that feeling you get right before a sneeze.
your words are indistinguishable,
but your presence is of more importance
than any subject or predicate.
sometimes your tone is harsh,
like fingernails got lodged in your voice box,
but then there are the times when you sing
"Corazon de Oro."
being sawed in two.
i cannot let a scream slip out,
revealing the facade
to the critical audience,
who are always waiting -
expecting -
hoping -
- for a mistake.
the magician whispers soothing words,
telling me i'm fine -
copasetic -
imagining -
- the seering pain
that thickens like a virus in my middle,
but let's face it -
he's no David Copperfield.
pulling heads off of chickens
a fowl obsession
it's simply an aerial
television kiss
spoon, i am upside down, like
the rest of the room
to run through your altar arms
the sky was loveless
so much as i do today.
the dreamy reds & blues that flood my mind seep out of my pores
and dye the down feathers purple.
outside the sun is unnaturally bright.
i reach for the switch & out goes the 10,000 watts.
my insides feel like a sky scraper,
fully lit & bright against the night sky.
an immigrant in my own backyard.
i let the Kamel burn down, inhaling the humps.
filthy, i scrub myself in this water box.
soaking, soaking, never immersed.
shaking. i fall to my knees beside the toilet.
i vomit up fingernails, leaving aftertastes of memories & polish.
crawling under the carpet, his words echo inside my head.
"she's dead."
so, i'll slow dance on bridges, silently awaiting her replacement,
watching the recruits drown.
captured by a flash
december 1955
in the hands of black and white
polyester, scotch & rosaries
embedded in the past
significance unmeasurable
stories left untold; unheard
when the pitch black loses its pitch
an urban garden blossoms cerebrally
she's digging up nothing but rusted ambitions
she used to hide under the bed
now she sleeps on the couch.
topic: "i remember"
each paragraph began with 'i remember'.
it was seven pages of my soul.
i don't think he cared much.
i remember giving it to him.
throwing it at him is probably more accurate.
i was standing at the top of my staircase,
dizzily looking down,
wishing i could melt into the thick black carpet
and become one of the steps.
it wouldn't have been much of a change
considering the way he walks all over me.
he was standing at the bottom,
crying his plastic tears.
i heaved a box of tissues,
along with the letter,
at his face,
hoping for a direct hit.
i missed.