Posts for June 4, 2018 (page 2)



Are those ribs or pillars?
Criss crossing her torso
like cloth bandages;
incipient mummification
weathering my bones and
pilfering my brain so my heart
can keep beating.
Two parts disaster 
over nine layers of fantasia.


We Have Arrived

I wanted to know if I would write about us someday
If there would come a time
where I would look at you
and say, “Now, now”

I told you
that even though time is an illusion
there sure is a lot of it
So we kept walking
imagining the moment of knowing it
when would we see it




They make an odd couple,

brother- and sister-in-law, 

a nuclear family with no

further branching.

One does a rich rocking

motion to get out of a chair,

waddles to the mail box,

carries in the groceries

he cannot see.  The other shuffles

across the kitchen floor,

dragging her bad leg

in order to serve a meal, leaning 

in to avoid the last few steps,

sliding the plate halfway on to

the table with her finger tips.

The light is dim, life 

fragmenting.  Church 

on days they feel up 

to an outing, a drive

by the graveyard.  A couple 

of neighbors check in

periodically; a guy mows

the lawn.  No more secrets

to be made, only silence

moving in; silence and more

sleeping.  No more turning 

stones to find happiness—

what happiness they have 

they have to make. 



Melva Sue Priddy


They Move and Impress

In the lottery office,
men who still wear suits
go through corridors
between cubes
made of plaster board
and carpet.
Urgent as a drive-thru,
they do not stop long
for photos with the press.


Spectral Tone Palettes Of Synesthesia

Vivid vibrations
stochastic composition
perpetual source

Lush pigments blending
cacophony of color
cortex conductor

Harmony in hues
chaotic orchestration
tonal refraction


Love’s Taxicab Blues or The Law & Order of the Bachelorette

I have a television that sits in dust
On a table in front of my couch
Usually never turned on

I have two remote controls 
One Samsung and one that is red
With a Cardinal

Yet I’m at my desk listening 
To a white woman pick from desperation 
And something about a crime scene



At Club

“If we don’t keep
the old rules,” I say,

“how will we
new members?”


American Spirits

She sits outside a shitty bar frequented by undergraduates 
and adult women who wish they are undergraduates 
objectively, everyone smoking at this table is hot
my turn ons include smoke from blue boxes and freckles
I make a mental note about Freud. 

He sits outside a shitty bar frequented by black jeaned degenerates of all ages
keeping an eye out for curly haired little girls
for whom cigarettes are still a bad example and a bad omen
what really changes in forty years
besides maybe a brand and a bedroom?

Joni Mitchell sweet blue fingers to her lips
traipsing around the world stroking custom made dulcimers
writing the things that lived inside all of us adolescent girls
she sits beside me in my bedroom 
and talks about truly all I want.

Everyone I give a shit about smokes American Spirits.



I’m paid by the hour

to transcribe principals’ thoughts

on school improvement

while I watch a herd of lionesses

try to take down a water buffalo.


The starving cubs watch the adults

as they embed their claws in the black hide

and blood darkens their fur from lip to throat.


When a threat is made

against her school

the principal says

it will be her face in the paper

if a kid gets hurt on her watch.


Family Bones

Side by side
in the diner,
Gram and I
read menus;
my boyfriend read
our bones
and faces.
The two Maggies,
the family resemblance.
I look
like my namesake.

I used to
like my mother.
She’s become
the missing link
in a chain
of bright-eyed women:
where did
your face go?
Why did you
weary the bones
the mapped us?