Will write for yarn.
The wind dries our bones,
leaves hollows, marrow
sapped,
fallow no more.
Inside
in the paths,
circuits, neurons spark and
go
along sear,
synaptic lines.
What once lit and danced
now
sits shelled.
Lovers linger
under dying vines outside
cafes.
They hold no sway over us
Old Folk.
And the fair kiss
they trade
we know will fade
and pitiless winter
come again.
Years ago
in psychotic stupor
or schizo-affective nightmare
my brother dug into the clay muck
of ourstory.
He flung
the muddy
words onto the page and
into my life when
he delivered the mess to a
friend.
Hands sullied, eyes burned by
earthy secrets,
I balked,
embarrased at the lies and
fossils he unearthed
I couldn’t yet name
or remember.
Now I unwind the words that snaked
their way into my psyche.
They followed
me through the [...]
I am working diligently on my story. It’s much harder than I thought it would be. I am asking for an extension on the deadline.
I might still get it posted (technically) today. As soon as I do, I will let all you good people know.
For now, I leave with you with this sweet little genius [...]
I sit typing and
a giant moth flies by me, the wind of her wings
going just past my ear
like a breath
to light
on the dirty fixture above.
A cricket sings in the next room while
lady bugs amass on the streaky, smeary window.
Tendrils of ivy
poke through the 100 year old gaps in this house,
easing in to gradually steal away [...]
I don’t feel poetic tonight
I feel sweaty, sticky, raw from a loud and violent day
with my four-year-old.
Atop the china cabinet is our armory:
Golf clubs, a toy fishing pole, a plastic shovel, a piece of wood splintered from a door jamb.
A plastic sword, a paddle covered with suction cups for catching the rubber ball, a bag [...]
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