Your parsimonious attitude neglects the vitality of the sunset sky bleeding all over us, the petrichor scented rainbow above leaking down on us, an infectious fluid of madness. The flag of the granite country that bore me waves in the breeze as it unfurls, rubbing stars like tattoos on the blueing sky.
Month: May 2025
Cheese, Salt, Audacity
The ghosts of sunset are tubular and fantastical. The last lingering color on the backporch of my vaporized brain is defrauded pink. Teal waves of entropy ride over me like the 4 horsemen of a very soothing apocalypse. In my letter to you, I described my life as “cheese, well grated.” I described my personality as “salted.” And you wrote back laughter and guesstimates on the waiting time in God’s pharmacy. Harvest hums, gaining ground on us. The sickle is at my back, my mind far away salting fields of lavender. Cut me low. Cut me clean. I can not bear the aggravating taste of my own audacity anymore.
Lost
Churlish water churns in my private ocean of antipathy. Sunlight maneuvers on the surface of the slate sea, polishing it. From here will come my death, small and terrifying. Somewhere on memory lane, I am riding my unicorn bike with the pink glittery seat. Somewhere, I am eating lemon clover. Somewhere, I am drunk in a dorm room writing poetry my future self will lose, like I’ve lost my name.
My Seafaring Love
Elizabethan frost coats my cold coated dreams. My husband’s name means rocky place, but it also means steadfast. He’s steadfast in rocky places like the craggy shores of my thalassophobic mind. Mosasaurs prowl the coast of my psyche, hunting stray thoughts as they sail desperately to the blue safety of open synaptic water. My husband is a man of the sea, the tentacles of his love entering my royal chambers like an octopus. He enchants me with his intelligence, his ability to open jars. The sea breeze he carries with him that tousles his hair when we sit in the doldrums of life, currents snubbing us as we drink ink on the beach.
Prayer of a Sinner
My celestial heritage makes my poor connection with my fellow man somewhat more palatable. Lord, save me from my private sins. The ones only You know about. In an alluvial dream of glittering scales and madness, my backstroke will not be enough to get to the haughty shore. My circumstances are humble, my virtues stoned on my mother’s lawn and unsure how to shame themselves next. Please throw me your love soaked lifeline of blood and grace, pull me to a tranquil rest I have not earned. In Jesus’ Name I pray, Amen.
Miniature Moon 