Tag Archives: writing
salient
I listen.
It’s my job not to pay attention, but I listen.
I like to hear them laugh
and enjoy each other.
I love their stories and their snores through
a well-earned nap.
I like to hear their families say,
“Jacob turns eight this year.”
Actually,
that’s Carl you’re thinking of,
but that’s okay.
I weep inside for
their breakup’s, their hard times,
their mom’s sick.
They piece my heart back together
when they ask their
other
if they’ve eaten. They called
just to ask that and if
they could pick anything up.
down
I catch myself wanting
to break this bottle
over the teeth
of the fence directly left -
to sit and cry
a little,
but I’d just go back in
and buy another.
Also, I gave up crying
for lent,
permanently.
Hit one on the first floor,
because my muscle memory
says, “down.”
Have I really become so afraid
of intimacy that I’d sabotage
anything resembling
just so I could go get let
down.
How that bell rings
around my head:
You have it in you to die,
coward,
but not to live.
You’re lucky my guilt
outweighs my disgust.
Fevers and Chills
With black tendrils she sways, down her forehead and brushed back with toned, olive polish. Her clothes fall freely with her legs, her breasts, her feet bare when she can help it. Subtly, into back she fades - no, like the backdrop walks with her.
Cheap talk
What does that even mean? You cannot have your cake and have it eaten too. It takes two to tango, honey, and talk is cheap. So, I speak by the hour, and pass collection when the hook penetrates your soft, upper palate.
Stains
While In
Subverting patience one expectation at a time. I like to weaponize existentialism - it’s my kink. I don’t even like the music, I just know you like me for listening. What a ball, a beautiful wedding. So pulls the oxen on cart. Pardon me a moment while I spiral out of control here.
Tri Cyclic
I did nothing but watch helpless as the young of my generation, the gifted and beautiful, trapped themselves in the same dead ends we hated the old for wasting their lives on. I’m sorry.
Welcoming
From birth your time, they say, will come. Your family excited, the papers, you sign. Guns flare. The uncles, the grandads, the fathers - those left - they say, your time will come. You sign, they cheer, you fight, they boo. Your war will come.
Requiem
It becomes a dream you share. The first to wake up leaves.
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