Frenching with ardent snowflakes was my youthful pastime. Once, in high school, I danced like no one was watching as the snow gently fell, but I was in a courtyard surrounded by windows, and everyone was watching. Early hypomania, before mania bloomed in my mind like a cantankerous blossom of energy. My ankle is derelict. I can’t walk far. But my mind is at the edge of the solar system, stepping out into a blistering future of stars.
Tag: writing
Casual Thrills
Psychedelic sunshine slits open my dark inner chambers, piercing my side. I leak glitter – beautiful and cheap like talk, like casual thrills, like loss. The wind is loving and cool in my hair. In my psyche, a desert with an oasis of blood. This will be my punishment.
Prairie Like Tinfoil
Jilted raindrops storm off from the clouds. The prairie wrinkles and crumples like tin foil – and it’s just as shiny. Angels play Uno under a lone tree, who helps one of them cheat. I walk toward them but will never reach them. The prairie has other plans, as does the dragonfly shimmering beside me. I’m pretty sure he’s just Death singing a lullaby only I can hear. My soaked slip sticks to me like the music of my husband’s deft fingers. Lingering in the cool air, half evaporated ghosts of truths long lost.
Sail Away Sail Away
Neon nefarious nepotism among the clouds creates chasms of lightning and love. Deep in the gorge, I make a boat out of a pallet and an umbrella. The umbrella is purple. So is my grieving spirit. The river will rush through the canyon into my veins. The rain nourishes the curving river as it cuts around red rocks. I hear it coming closer. I have my boat. I have my bruises. I have no reason why. The river lifts me up. I am 37 34 25 21 19 and then 9.
Only Jesus and I See It
The flavor of his chocolate pie is deafening. Today is marbled, a muse of comfort. Or maybe elegance. I’d like to say comfort and elegance can “coexist” like it says on those stupid bumper stickers, but for me they seldom can. Around the table, saints with no stigmata. But the barbs in my brain break free frequently, and deep in my husband’s psyche, a wound tears softly, as though my husband’s essence were perforated. His halo is turquoise and silver and shines like the sun. Only Jesus and I see it.
Horror Poem
My blood flows out in icy spurts. The sun sets overhead, sullen and unwilling to go down, but with no other choice.
Periwinkle Aliens Piss Me Off
Periwinkle aliens piss me off. Get your saucer off my lawn. You don’t pay rent. (None of my neighbors fear an alien invasion thanks to me) The prowess of a dragon fly hunting inside me is matched only by the wolves that hunt beside me. I wear a ballgown to funerals and black to parties. Sometimes, my personality rips at the seams a little, a frayed strip of rainbow fluttering in a recalcitrant breeze. Who will carry me home after a night carousing with the coldest stars?
How I Avoid Death
Death sings in an acapella group. I’ve only avoided him because my voice makes angels cry, being made of shattered glass, a northerly wind, and incompetence. No one will let me sing with them.
Time
Time is seldom sober, and he trips a lot. He tried to pick me up in a bar once, and I told him I had a boyfriend. He didn’t know the boyfriend was poetry, but silence is sweet like fudge. Now, Time loops over my arms in an embrace, pulling me from my quaint little dollhouse – and I tell him I’m not interested. He slides his slick tongue in my ear, licking my discontinued brain, and whispers, “ I have my way with all of you eventually.” Gradually, the dollhouse recedes as I enter a place where Time is meaningless.
Together
I am your cloud, your muse, your curving texture of unequivocal light. Everything in me is designed for you, darling, from the tender, disturbing flower of my mouth to the soft places you rest your hands. The mountains ask what will become of us, but we know. You were born to dazzle, I to sparkle quietly. Together, we will light a path for the one most precious to us, a path to help guide her through the darkening world.
Miniature Moon 