the hole in my chest
where the rain gets in
refuses to close up
Tag: writer
from my mouth (20170119)
my words are spittle
on rice paper
bleached driftwood carving lines
in the sand
you enter my blood like
like a fever and hollow me out
making flutes of my bones
i pull you close
smell your hair your skin
and still i breathe hot
on the mirror
and run a finger through it
we fall in love with ghosts
and with our ideas of ghosts
and our ideas are ghosts
and our words are their
quick and dead forms
wet sidewalks (20170118)
in the rain a cyclist passes
unprepared for the sudden showers
an orange ember glowing
at the end of his cigarette
petrichor and marlboro lights
and i am ten
and the streets are wet
and black except for the
sodium cyclops eyes of streetlamps
home has that familiar smell
and nicotine-stained curtains
leaves and bells (20160117)
the wind soughs faint and
fair among branches
the silversheen whispers
a mouth with a thousand
paper tongues
licking greenly
the wind, the wind
she moves
anima mundi
the chime rings on my patio
in jaipur a child hears a bell
my life’s work (20170116)
logical switch-up
my mature places heavy
so went my mouthful
New Readings
Yes, my friends. TWO new readings. One is a delightful tale of a fowl-tempered friend brought to us by Poet Rummager. You can check out her awesome artwork on her site, too.
The other is the fifth most popular, and previously unrecorded, poem from my site from last year.
Head over to the January Open Mic Page and scroll down to listen. Be there, or be rectilinear on a two dimensional plane.
shih/the army (20170115)
these parasites and guardian angels
swarm in my guts, hum in my skull
a force to be reckoned with
small green army men cast in my own image
dig wells, harvest springs
bound in chains light enough to work in
there are keys but not all bonds are
slavery
on the nature of desire (20170114)
your skin is a sin
or at least
invites to me sin
(if there is such a thing)
all i know is
hell’s flames
can’t be as hot
as your breath on my neck
lacerations (20170113)
glass hearts
beautiful as they catch
scatter the light
how quickly they cut
when shattered
——
image courtesy of morgue file
http://mrg.bz/bb8e5d
mysteries (20170112)
her chin rests
against her chest
and though i hear no sighing
i see it in the
slump of her shoulders
and how her face has to move
to smile
as if catching up
with the idea
Words and Feathers 