Wild sentence chase down Sincerity, beat him with feathers and tar him with honey. What happens when the truth gets overpopulated? Are you true? I’m true to you.
Tag: Prose poem
Queen Midas
Tangy recollections of pterodactyls in the yard feast on my maladapted days. A cult of glitter waits to coat my dinner. I am Queen Midas. Predators prowl the shores of my body. Body evanescent. Body effervescent. Evolution wears a red sequin dress, her leathery legs exposed, and her petrified breasts heaving in opalescent colors.
Salvation…a Vision
Christmas is a plot line in a novel I sew with the soft pink silk of my lungs. How God, as vanilla voiced as He is, could write a letter of love to a spider with a breathing addiction is beyond me. But I’m grateful. I wear my garnets to the foyer of Bliss and reconfigure my name. When the lightning bug veers too close to me, I cut him free, and I bleed.
Cavorting in Dentists’ Offices
The simple, timeless horrors of self awareness and awareness of others remind me to dress in my dreams. All the nude cavorting in dentists offices is uncalled for. Spiritually, I am 3 feet tall. In the pines of Georgia, sobriety coveting a sandwich eaten by a girl with an old name. Falsify your eyes and leak past the guards of this temple of industry and consumption. What velveteen briars invest in the salted soil of your skin?
Eternal and Ripe
The fog is a fixture of water’s confusion as it bleeds into and against itself. The sultry coolness like an ice cube in a lover’s mouth strokes the water. Water is eternal and ripe. The iconic fragrance of frost lingers over the fog coated world, teaching us what it means to rest and give rest. The lamentations of the marigolds can be heard as a soft velvet hum.
Thriving
The man trapped in a rain drop drowns when he tries to smell it. The letter I wrote to you last year is pinned to a ray of sun called the Exorbitant Cuddle. My letters make mayhem with the luscious cosmos. Two drinks in and the year was drunk like the Communion wine. There is no end to the sort of suffering that will pull your heart out through your crotch. Only inelegant death, thriving.
Rising Tide – Micro Memoir
In Newport, on the side of the road, my family pulled over to play by the sea. I took photos of the water with my little Instax Mini while my father in law watched my daughter. In an instant, the tide starts pouring in. I see my daughter alone on a jetty, my father in law nowhere nearby. I start calling to her to come back. She points to the water and starts to climb in to get back to me. She cannot swim. Frantic, I am sprinting toward her. The sea has claimed so much of me in my dreams. It will not take my daughter from me in what passes for real life
Be Real With Me
Your open face is a battleground. Behind your eyes, artillery. Every champagne glass will shatter the night you turn into a fish, and I will lap the champagne off the floor with my tongue like a kitten. Be real with me. The cold sheen of your lips tells me when you lie.
Zeitgeist
The zeitgeist is entertaining, is shredded, is mad. My mercurial hair flies in the breeze of a thousand white fragrances. This age has a stone and a sling shot. This age is not David, but Goliath. God will overcome this blood crusted century like a disease, sewing heaven from His hands like wildflower seed.
Prose Poem – Us
Her wet voice is the breeze among the lilacs. Her face turned upward like a graph, displaying shiny information encoded in cotton skin. My body is a bridge between two worlds. I dream of the sweet number tattooed on the past.
Miniature Moon 