-So Much for Clarity-
It’s NaPoWriMo! And I’m writing poems again, here’s my day one. — 00 Be the 1st to vote.Share...
Read More-See You Later, and Good Legs-
This year for National Poetry Writing Month, I’m taking a much more relaxed “at least one a week” approach rather than the poem-a-day frenzy. I am currently with frenzy-a-plenty elsewhere. So here’s my first one! Hope you enjoy. — -See You Later, and Good Legs- Adding abdomen to her words, she tells me “It’s just a figure of speech” as if having a silhouette and calves made diction innocent. I wonder if I put too much ankle in my “I understand.” Or if I was more speech than figure, with my hand and my elbow clangoring. One brown strand flagellates out from her hair, waving to static in the room. She says about the wine being well legged while my next sentence pulls on armpits and epidermal cells. Her eyewhites flash: be anywhere but...
Read More-Repeat Minus the Lather-
As if it were bricklaying or an onion we could dice and caramelize with olive oil we imagine it facebook-eventable but peace is a memory problem. It fades. We repeat it to ourselves, we repeat it charbroiled. Already it slipped my mind how my stomach goes hydroelectric at the top of a swing chainrust squeezed into my palms rubber seat arching. Zoom in on sky, ground pans out. And I have to hear peace again when later I’m impaling at my keyboard. That cursor blinks, like a crow molting. Blankness in its feathers. I go off to smite against a wall. Come back incorporeal, and peace is whispering something slow and tree sap and I miss it. Preoccupied by the branches and rootwars the concrete on the curb cracking upward. Peace, even carved lavishly in constipated rage...
Read More-Word Choice and Meaning-
She said he had an infectious smile as if the take-over were the only importance. Sure, we all turned up our maws, but did we fester? Invade? Did we swell and pustulate? I wonder if he really had a six courses antibiotics smile. I don’t tell her how leavened bread might not corrode her face. It wouldn’t hurt to have a jingle you hum to the widening fog while washing the dishes smile. He might be more worth her while if his grin was a chocolate craving. You could say his simpers open a six pack and put briquets on the grill. It’s the headwaters of a spring burbling away a swelter in August. Or simply a woosh. But she has already moved on to jumping about pancakes and hair follicles. The infectious smile creepnumbing my heels for amputation. +10 Share...
Read More-Community-
These doughnuts are spelled with an “ugh!” and were mine. But they are are pinkening Sara’s fingers, and I suspect the cinnamon twist of Ben-shaped treason. Last Tuesday, dishes began their own grazing and I’m pretty sure it is not my turn to wrangle them from pasture. I do not know how oregano sprouted from our ceiling. In a few weeks, when it hangs low enough, I will ask if it belongs to anyone. Then clip some for eggs. The best is when we’re all postured as if we had a sofa. Legs comfortably skewing. Our palms taking charcoal rubbings of the carpet. Overstiff elbows. Once Ben had the idea that all windowsills were Baptist Preachers…the first steps toward the light. Sara said he was transcendental. And I just swallowed my bagel where it sponged...
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