floating and leaving no trace
November has been a great month for Open Mic. Apparently I’m the only one not doing it.
Today’s contribution is from the fabulous Pleasant Street. You can get a link to your reading right here on the November Open Mic page.
You can also cut out the middleman and go straight to her site.
Thanks for reading, listening, and contributing. You make an old bird happy.
i ache for your milky skin
less dress
please
raw and pink
together we shine
we must worship
above and below
i dreamed once
that my parents
[both dead]
were alive again
and reconciled
and living in a
large house
even the
dream me knew
this fiction
poorly written
and all i wanted
was to
wake up
there was no
longing for home
just the need
to get away
from the lie
of it all
there was a trick
when i was a kid
a needle in the bottom
of an egg and you could
break the yolk
and blow out the contents
left with an empty shell
i wonder who held the needle
and how long did it take
to evacuate my yolk
i stare at the screen
my eyes closing
sleepy but tired
is not the state
i have achieved
my teeth ache, feel hollow
every footstep
every ringing phone
sends vibrations
along the floor
up through my feet
right into those last
nerves still active
in my caveman jaw
if one more person says
not bad for a monday
i might just
need to see the dentist
with my mouth full of shards
and the taste of pennies
We’ve got another great poem from Pleasant Street from Are You Thrilled. Check it out along with the rest of this month’s offerings right here.
You should also go check out her site. Lots of good stuff there.
my lust is no longer
a trickle
and i feel you against
my palms
straining against/with me
i’m a goddamned train
that refuses to
arrive on time
the schedule is trash
fit to line
bird cages
if we were made of paper
then getting close to me
would cause us both
to burst into flames
ashes are good
there once was a writer from cal
who thought he was quite rational
what he didn’t perceive
would slip right through the sieve
of his neurons in a battle royale
turning the flashlight
pointing up
into the tree
the white beam
punches me in the nose
suddenly i smell
the oils of the needles
feel the resinous pine
sap sticky on my fingers
a small green insect
dances into the light
caught in the beam
as if in amber
still except for the furious
motion of its cellophane wings
that’s the problem with
temptation i think
shining a light
where your eyes
aren’t accustomed to the
darkness
what you catch there
may be taught
to fly into a flame
——
for
as everything turns grey
writing prompts by J.R.Rogue and Kat Savage
8. The Problem With Temptation
time to get your hands dirty
time to get your knuckles bloody
time to snarl like a tiger
and leap coiled spring that you are
made so against your will
but really
this is the only fight worth
clenching your fist for
gritting your teeth for
we are all stars
let’s give them one hell
of a sunburn
Words and Feathers 