April 3, 2013 § Leave a Comment
then move towards me loving myself
December 5, 2012 § 5 Comments
She makes me a promise
she knows I need. She knows
I won’t hold her to it
if it’s not meant to be.
There, a dancing in the place
where we are dilapidated falling down
houses of a ghosted neighborhood.
In a deserted thicket of forest
we run and get out of breath
as we chase each other and play
with our skirts bunched up and scrunched
by childish fingers gripping convention.
She knows how I get there.
She knows how I came.
She knows how to get there
and how to remain.
In comfy grass, heat bug symphony
notes tickle her nose.
I will join her with clean
feet and leave her dirty.
Buried there, by our roots
a treasure of two.
A measure, a brew of all
that is true.
October 16, 2012 § 6 Comments
So hard to resist being crazy.
I have the numbers
of course I have the numbers
I’m an investigator
and no fool
I have the addresses too
its hard to not know
the internet, these days
who would it hurt? if I called and hung up?
hard to resist.
my hands itch, just want to reach out
I want what I want.
what pain, what pain would that cause
I have the numbers,
I have the desire,
I have to not. I can’t.
And its hard to resist
August 10, 2011 § 6 Comments
Her back pressed against the concrete barrier, Pearl heard the troll-like rumbling of the cars going by. She smelled smoke and fumes and shit and other human olfactory run off. Regardless, she wouldn’t move. Her cup was the fullest after a day here. And she didn’t have to dance.
“Yea, here you go.”
“Thanks, bless you.” She pulled out her Bic and lit the charity Camel filter.
The sun went down; a huge truck had its red hood open, snobby nose. No, the sun hadn’t gone down. The sky had filled with clouds. And the truck was belching. Yes, the sun was going down, but not quite down, but who would know the sky was so pregnant with clouds, blue a mockingbird, blue a mock mock mock.
Clink in her cup.
“Thanks.” Mmm money was distracting. She would buy bread and a pint, maybe even a pack of smokes. Smoke smoke everywhere but nothing left to inhale.
Now the night was claiming broke, begging for money from the noble stars, the wealthy moon, the filthy rich winds of left and right. Foot traffic was waning. Almost quitting time, soon she would hear the siren, the Flintstone quitting time whistle installed in her head. Slowing to a spit, people rainstorm spun itself out, their own whistles, yes they must have whistles, and how else do they know to go home.
Pearl decided to head to the store and make her way across the air walk over the highway, hidden by weeds, hidden by random real plants eaten by weeds, cannibals, weeds have a bad reputation, bad thrived, just like in the people world, just like in the real world, the bad grow and increase and prosper and the good languish and long to be watered.
Sick of smelling tires.
Back to the trailer park.
July 22, 2011 § 3 Comments
“It’s just a single window.” He said in an exasperated tone. The doctor stopped scribbling and looked up at him.
“Ok. Why does that bother you?” Manny couldn’t remember how they had gotten onto this topic. He was simply talking about his boredom with the walk to work. There was this building with a beautiful mural, bordering a parking lot. A large brick wall had been white washed, the image had been painted in neutral browns, but with such love, it looked real, like murals should. And at the top left corner, one single window. The sight of that one window had filled Manny with terror. He imagined the torturous room, the fright that would fill him if he was to enter that room and have no where else to go. People chasing him, and he was only able to get there. End of the line. One window, or death.
“No building should be like that.” Manny responded with a shudder.
“Because…” Dr. French tapped her pen against the notebook after under lining something briskly. He pretended not to notice her glance at her watch.
“Well that’s the only way out. What if something happens?” This seemed easy to comprehend to Manny; his feelings were Seeing Eye dogs leading him to an inevitable conclusion.
“I don’t understand. Like what?” The doctor looked over the top of her glasses at him, a puzzled expression reaching her eyebrows, tossing them up in the air with attitude. Prada glasses, Jimmy Choo shoes, Louis Vuitton bag. These were all things Manny noticed about Dr. French, who he had been sent to after several “incidents” at the office.
“Anything. If you need to flee, this greatly limits your options.”
“But…you mean to go out the window? Didn’t you say it was high up off the ground?” She uncrossed her legs; Manny saw a flash of dull white underwear before she pressed her knees together and leaned forward.
“There are some things I would imagine are more terrifying.” He said as the gentle alarm on her desk went off, indicating the end of their session. She smiled and turned to him.
“Not downtown, Manny. Same time Tuesday?”