Light Bulb
I hurl frisbee death stars,
shuriken eyes
You hug every comer,
exhausted copulation.
Current in the filament
feels like life.
Not as complicated
as our stories make it
I hurl frisbee death stars,
shuriken eyes
You hug every comer,
exhausted copulation.
Current in the filament
feels like life.
Not as complicated
as our stories make it
the daughter at midnight pulls
down the blinds and pushes
curtains together after rotating
the lock on every window and door
it stops the nightmares, she says,
to know that she has locked things down
with her own two hands.
Oh yes, I’m violent.
I’ve killed myself so many times.
Not the death of a pulse,
But choosing to let a past-self die.
I’m quite literally invincible.
I don’t need anything.
I awake and face the day,
Better than I was.
Christened by the pain.
A sculpture of self-sadism,
Every hit of the chisel,
A standard impossible to measure up against.
I’m already perfect.
The child in me still hurts.
Feels as though he is never enough.
I’ve retired the care in my age,
But who I’ve been is still suffering,
Looking for who would notice me.
In fear of dying alone,
Rotting and smelling in a thick black bodybag,
Full of someone overlooked.
Full of potential.
A capacity for beauty and goodness.
A pity.
to impose on the generous readers
something every day, no matter
how inane benign or uninspired.
Her goal is to stay in the game and besides,
it’s been quite a while since she
actually wrote a poem. She’d like
to blame the silence on her
full-time job, or on the fact that
she has other books coming out, but
she knows better. She teaches that stuff.
In any case, she is thankful to whoever
has read this far, and she must admit that
it feels good to post nonsense
with flair and abandon. Yippee!
The thrill of clicking submit
and never looking back.
Rembrandt liked to paint
dogs shitting in the corners
of his big crowd scenes,
maybe just to take us all
down a peg or two, okay?
I want to walk with the wind, not against it
I want the overwhelming heat of sunlight to make my body cry out and sweat
An electrifying sensation pulling muscle away from bone
My body growing up from wet, fertile moss
As above so below
So below that I deeply root down into the muck that I once was birthed
Rising through into the bountiful cervix of earth
My parturition into this new thing of life
Of chaos
Of wonder
Of desire
Of pain and pleasure
As above the flies and gnats
Scattering away from the shit that I can rise from
The clouds casting themselves off to the side
For the sun to blind me with its power
Black flashes behind eyelids
Streaks of white light
I rise with a feral growl
Calling on all the heat shaking up from the earth
Power
Strength
Life
Nestled against the hillside
Is the trailer you were raised in.
I watch you fall still with peace
As you embrace the otherworldly beauty of the scenery.
You praise this land.
Basking in its glory as the wildflowers sway against your hips.
You are reminded of the unforgettable moments where you truly felt alive.
This is the place you found God.
—
Nestled against the hillside
Is the trailer you were raised in.
I watch as you squirm with discomfort
Walking inside to witness the wreckage
Your wretched mother caused.
You curse this land.
Threatening to demolish it until all that’s left is scorched earth.
You are reminded of the horrific atrocities committed in this place.
This is the place you lost God.
I have taken a vow of positivity
not really, yet a June goal is to be less negative
therefore, more positive
and here it is Monday morning
work stress, future stress, granted a bit less stress
since it’s June and not September
but stress all the same and I’m finding
positivity is quite easy to throw out the window
yet, I maintain my pledge
seek to be an encouragement
maintain the thought pattern
I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be
ponder whether that is actually the case
and decide I truly can face the world today
newness plus a spattering of joy arrives each morning
after all…am I right…supposedly???
so why not sing a quiet little song
