Temperatures checked.
Photos printed.
Feet kissed.
The components of motherhood are sweet,
uncensored.
Tag: writing
Language
Ermine sentences burrow in the dark
in the field where no one listens.
I will dig them up,
roll them in my palms,
use and abuse them.
Politics
Politics
The powers that be
are skipping rope on my dead lawn
are high on a Sunday.
Hold the Kool Aid.
Hold your nose.
Now drink deep.
The Saccharine Weight of Responsibility
Ribbons of dreams are wrapped around my wrists.
pressure so sweet.
The saccharine weight of responsibility
straddles my chest.
Don’t free me from my desires
to feed me to my needs.
Depression II
Serrated sight stabs
the letters of my name.
My face is hooked to a vacuum
sucking my breath.
Why are the worst battles noiseless?
Domestic Violence
Domestic Violence
She is a reluctant dreamer,
afraid of who she’ll see tonight
beneath her eyelids.
Outside you wait with muscles and wolves,
and a knife that only turns in the dark.
Your name is on a sealed record somewhere playing over and over.
Your hand is a voodoo doll.
Watch her bend when you close your fingers.
Idealism
Shudder, shatter.
Glass friends and
gossamer days.
What outlasts is an ideal.
But what happens when you reach utopia
and find it brittle?
Civilization Undulates
Pretty talking like
soft sugar in the air
like snow while wind admires herself
in the mirror.
Space sparkles kindly on our undulating cities,
the land groaning with the weight of buildings
that rise and fall with generations,
while our beloved build
and we try to furnish our vainglorious homes
with ourselves, diminutive,
wispy, fleeing from the thoughtless force of the wind
Untitled
The Glitterati is at my doorstep.
Did I know I was a star?
Yes, I admitted,
Because I am always burning
And everything is so dark.
But look at the sunshine,
all your sparkling!
Around me the air is still missing,
and my soul died trying to fumble home in the dark,
so I say nothing and close the door.
Scrapbook Page
Scrapbook Page
They beam summer red
dribbling on her mini thigh
while the nurse checks her labs.
He is her comforter
a teddy bear when the catheter comes.
Tiny text. Fair font.
A spray of sea.
A wash of greenery.
His mouth opens crazy
eyes bulging
to make her shriek
with gladness
Outside each frame
I sit rigid behind the lens
frayed
frazzled
grateful that my miniature joy monster and I
are never alone.
Miniature Moon 