Fling

I wanted to end up in love.
So many trinkets have scattered
and words have blushed
the wind's complexion
as they carry like wishes.
Centuries, for today.
For today I speak it
as if it is to land
on someone else's words
and multiply, like wishes do.

Tradition

My stairs creak, damp
with years of drought. /
Rain becomes routine
when it's unnecessary
and when it lays down in blankets
like it's warming the cement
instead of running cold rivers.
A swift wave of longing
washes over the window again,
dangling hurricanes in the street
while I turn so the small of my back /
watches and my hands
dangle ornaments and mementos
on the briars of the tree / like a fool. 

This is a work in progress, so there will be some changes made.  I just need to publish it now so that I'll remember it later!

Sometimes I miss you,
even though it was just a minute ago that we talked.
Sometimes I don't know what to say,
so I just laugh so I don't listen to silence.
Sometimes I want to stare in your eyes,
but look away because eye contact is generally instantaneous.

Going through all of the drafts I have on here that I never published, and publishing all of the ones that interest me. The onslaught is old.
I can guess who this is about.

Hello, Kitty,

sitting on a teardrop toolbench,

a hammer for the heart,

and one other for the eardrum.

A mallet for the toes to keep on feet and then run round.

A tape measure for the heartstrings, from heart down to ring finger.

Hello Kitty,

Hello, dear.

A glass for keeping eyes in -

No, a face as perfect as glass.

No hammer yet can break it,

But that of the Iron Man

Duct tape for the blood cells

for fixing holes for swimming

No crashing

crashing

crashing dandies

Lovely in their clothes.

What would you have to eat, sir?

One choice, not two, but one?

This one, or the other?

Still one it is, and one will choose, unless one chooses not

No, not

Choose not and you have no choice but to choose one

There's nothing

Nothing better than the umbrella that you carry

To keep in the sun

As a bowl keeps water
Oh, mine music, that sings only like puzzles can

And then tables tip
And left alone again is the teardrop
And left alone again is the toolbench...

One look was all it took. I didn’t want to look away. Even when the cart next over creaked as it turned and caught on wood, I didn’t want to. But I had my book in my hands, and had no more excuses. So I turned away with my fantasy, away from my real one.

Ding, dong, the witch is dead.
Left on the doorstep,
with one newspaper in hand.
Laughing at her!
All of the children laugh with me.
What a thing to say to them, too!
“My, my, my,” says she,
“What a pretty doggie! Yes!”

They sat together on the park bench with a backpack in between them.
“So, what do you think you’ll do now?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know… maybe write some, under a pen name. Maybe paint.”
“That’s all good, but… what about the cops?”
“Screw them. They can’t have my backpack.”

To Celebrate

Two women, bundled
and swaddled like newborns
celebrate,
alike in structure and in
disposition,
the day that light finally
held them and fed them
bread
baked in the dark.

(Inspired by Sleeping Twins by Odd Nerdrum)

All the smiles betray me.

LOL

One nodding,
on one desk lolling.
One          plus          one
                         is 2.
The voice tells them to --
Rub out the chocolate
curses, with salt
on their thumbs,
from their temples.
Granite feet, weighty
and dripping white
on their foreheads;
a temple built over
the temple ground.
Sacred secretions.
   What
happened?
A nod means yes.
   Up, down;
a nod means
       Yes.
But is it not strong to refuse?
To be with them when
they blot out   blue

tears

in the paper
of consciousness.
I refused the lol
-lipop
for a day of classes.