Crackling flames crinkle the cold air in the woods outside my memories. Why run when the river can carry you smoothly to a symphonic sea? This fire’s name is Aurora, and she is melting the guns my father taught me to grow. The blasts pop like candy in the mouth. X rays blast through my holographic skull, revealing dancing neurons. The sinewy little sluts grind on while my memories collapse like the furniture I tried to put together, too female for the hammer. Familiar only with the nail.
Tag: poem
Friendliness
Hi neighbor! I say as though I’m not bare naked and watching poisonous frogs copulate in my yard. It’s nice weather we’re having. The balmy air and sweating clouds came to tea and I served them with the lilac china my ghosts love so well. Friendliness is next to godliness. That’s what they say, right? My eyes have lost patience with waiting. They dart into a wise old fox’s den.
Sell Yourself
Concord curtains crusted with sultry amethysts drape the windows of my mind. My mind is an old Victorian. Pink and purple with yellow trim. In the corridors are ghosts. The dead pace about my mind with their leger books, counting my sins and disintegrating my offspring. To be the moon glowing alone and cold – how wonderful. Instead, my thoughts are but drywall dust blown away as gusts of brain damage convulse through me. The windows have voices, and they all sing Intuition by Jewel. Sell yourself, just cash in. Already did. Here, sweetheart. See the agent hawking my hallways to purveyors of lust?
Voluptuous and Treacherous
Chrome tears coalesce in the misty mountainside. I said goodbye to my 20s in the tranquil mountain air of Colorado. When home is as voluptuous and treacherous as you are, there are bound to be misunderstandings between you and your psyche. Vanilla snow falls on my languid language, wiping my adjectives clean.
Social Drudgery
Voracious velocity vivisects my slow grace, the day chomping at my peace like a piranha. I was having a delightful time – finger sandwiches and ostentatious bird song, when the all encompassing pace of contemporary social drivel knocks me out of my luscious galoshes. Now I paint black polka dots on meerkat caskets, waiting to retire and expire.
Desires
Surprisingly, Death’s door is butter yellow with a pink butterfly wreath. My alter ego is drunk in my neighbor’s garden, touching her pansies in the most unbecoming way. When I cross Death’s threshold tonight in the lingerie I bought at the discount department store, the fraying rayon pulling taut over my eagerness, all my menstrual blood will gush out of the house. My terror will be the breeze on your back as you stand on my grave and say, “Where did you put my satisfaction?”
Think of Me in the Depths of Your Despair
How I stood on the glittering brink holding out a branch for you to grab. How you spit in my eye. The nightingales don’t sing where you’re going. I live now in a cave full of paper mache and feral mirth. You bury your name in ash and call it a bath.
The Life and Times of Us All
Life carries her green magic market. Verdant veracity will be verified. Time will be devalued and beaten.
Fear
Risky grass points at the sun, accusing her, blaming her for their birth. Here, the bullets hover just above the nape of the neck. This is a wholesome place because Fear is the primordial feeling, black and polished as onyx. Fear is honest. It does not succeed in subterfuge.
A Drowning Woman
Winter rebrands as peace. There’s a barcode in my phosphorescent heart. Scan it and ring up my frosted ambition. Music is balm to a world wounded by so much silence. To film peace, place cameras on either side of a drowning woman. Wait two minutes.
Miniature Moon 