the heart is a room
full of windows
walls made of brass
you sigh
and your sigh is
a tuning fork
pitched to break glass
to bend metal
do the shattered panes
let in light
or only blood
Tag: creative writing
construction (20160616)
i built a house
with my hands
laid a foundation
erected walls
raised a roof
installed windows
i attempted decoration
but stopped at one room
the would floors were okay
but the glass coffee table
and the leather arm chairs
you would have hated them
i didn’t bother to move in
i left it empty
except for those three
pieces of furniture
the gray morning (20160615)
the sky is smooth and gray
like concrete
my words are featureless
leeched of color
like concrete
three black crows harass a fourth
she has something in her beak
limp and glistening
against this morning sky
they are the only
movement
sound
color
finger bones (20160614)
today my hands hurt
and i struggle with the clay
cutting the base free
to mount it on more clay
to raise it up
the finger bones ache
and i think a good use for them
would be a mala necklace
i ignore the pain
in the joints
but feel it while driving home
these little betrayals
of body makes
a little more paunch
a little less hair
a little more nose
a lot more jowl
so many more things to worry about
and the constant threat
of pain in the feet
of pain in the hands
the chest
memento mori
i count these off
on my finger bones
om mani padme hum
——
the bees shall inherit the earth (20160613)
it’s harder to see
anything good in people
start over with bees
me and my shadow (20160612)
i walk on my hands now
i used to walk on my feet
like everyone else
but i got tired of
my shadow always
dogging my heels
i jumped a lot
but that was exhausting
and i always had to come
down
so
now i walk on my hands
the first time
i did it
i was able to lock hands
with my shadow
and wrestle him off the ground
empty where his eyes were
smooth where his ears should be
vacant where his mouth might have opened
yet it laughed
this human-sized oil spill
knowing that my only choices were
to pull it to myself
so that would never be parted
or go back to letting it follow me
i walk on my hands now
on my shadow, hand-in-hand
a compromise
junco (20160611)
hop, dark-eyed junco
you search for an easy meal
graduation day
New Poem on SlasherMonster
Hey, I have a new poem up on SlasherMonster. It answers the age-old question about what to do with a broken heart.
You can check it out here (and it’s the only place you can see this poem right now, so head on over there. It’s scream.
Also be sure to check out Rose’s companion piece and her excellent reading (also available on this month’s Open Mic.
bones like flutes (20160610)
we are all
musical instruments
flutes made of bone
femur and tibia
radius and ulna
so many ribs
bleached and hollowed
drilled with precision
so that the wind
passes over us
and plays us
a dry harmony
we wait for rain
to reflesh us
and take up
our own voices
once again
on ruminating (20160609)
paranoia sits in my chest
a fist clenched around my heart
so quick it must be a snake
envenomed and eager to strike
every thought a judgment
every word a pointed finger
it’s so boring
to try to not be that way
so exhausting that i
let my gorge rise
open my mouth
and let the snake out
shadow puppet of a serpent
a hand shaped like the devil’s head
fingers curled into a fist
but still spitting poison
from my bloody, beating heart
Words and Feathers 