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Thursday, August 16, 2012


in response to The Think Tank Thursday at Poets United*

Do you remember the moment I dreamed for you?
I hung that net on my wall adorned with tiny strings and beads and feathers
and blessed beyond the heavens according to the lady who sold it
folded myself into bed and wished
for you.
I knew in the back of my mind that you don't answer to dreams or 
even blatant requests but I was just, you know, hoping
hoping that maybe I could will you somewhere 
but that didn't work with anything else i did so maybe I just bought it because it was pretty
next morning I peel the sleep from my eyes
you coughed politely
there you were.
caught between strings with a feather in your mouth
you pleaded silently to be cut down but I ignored you for myself
handed you a sword and laid down, commanded you
and for a while
we fit, saviour and saved. 
you cut down everything that wasn't you and I fed you bits of my skin and dripped water into your mouth
but your eyelashes drooped
and your fingernails turned yellow
and while yellow is my favourite colour
I know murder when it's human-shaped.
I untied your hand and convinced myself I had Stockholmed you into loving me
that you were coming back
that I could wait
that I was only waiting
until then I hung my net across my chest, afraid to dream to hard.

*Think Tank Thursday is a weekly prompt where ports are given a subject to write on. this week was "Dreamcatcher".

Monday, August 13, 2012


A response to Three Word Wednesday

I walked along the left side of a dirt road, unsure.
one patch seems ominous; I stick my hand into the soil, I breathe.
"so here you are,"  I say, not knowing whom to speak of.
I take a moment of finality-- the earth welcomes me.

the rope at my feet coils and uncoils itself uneasily and I twine it in my fingers.
the birds seem weary, and thankful.
for a moment I think of my mother, mothers always trace your path before you know you have one
worms trickle over my splayed palm and I imagine her.

I am sun-drenched, canteen full
I pull on my straw-lined uniform
stand against a wooden board, my grave-bed
"wrap the covers 'round me, sister," and I am bound.
my audience watches and I blush from the spectators drawn here to witness with beady eyes

I look at the sky, I breathe
I look at the earth, I breathe
I look at my hands, I breathe
while the earth crumbles beneath.


you're just so-
       you too-
I really want to-
       me too-
is this okay-
       it's okay, I'm okay-
       put your-
okay just tell-
you're so beauti-
       don't worry-
should i stop
is this okay 
are you okay-
I love you 
I love you
        I love-



splinters in my feet
infected, pus infused
from treading boards
I cough, try to speak around the maggots squished between my teeth
made from ill-motivated butterflies
eyes blink against skin and I'm drowning
but at least it's in a pattern
at least it's driven

at least i think i have a purpose

for a little while I think maybe this is it
maybe I'll make it this time
I stumble
my hands blister on hot lamps
I tilt my head back
lick the tears off of my face because my throat is parched
and whisper
"when sorrows come
they come not in single spies
but in battalions."

I hear applause, somwhere

Sunday, August 12, 2012


just now while peeing i saw a large ant.
my normal instinct is no smush it-- impose my human big-ness
but it wasn't harming me
and honestly i've just been too lazy
to give a fuckall anymore
so i watched
while it teetered across the floor
occaisionally hindered by the bathrug
but determined nonetheless
and i thought
what if thats me?
what if
the only thing keeping me from being smushed to death
is otherbeing laziness
and the fact that i haven't bitten the wrong leg?
and here i am
teetering across someones mildewed, piss-sprayed, blue-green bathrug
careening toward my death
if i'm lucky
an uncerimonious yet efficient stomping?

the ant reached the wall
i finished my pee

i think i felt it's body between my heel and the carpet


I want to touch you.
Feel the pulse beneath your skin
let me trace your veins
like road maps
to paths that get spiderweb-thin.
I feel poetry in the way you breathe
but only fragments.
you exhale
and it's gone.
I'm gone
we're gone.