Posts

  • “Name your torture,”
    one of them said
    with a wink.

    I wanted an orchard
    but I swallowed the vodka
    he handed me
    willingly.

    “The Gorge”

  • here is what I wrote down:

    I had spent an hour walking one direction
    without purpose or intent
    only feeling the sun beat down on me,
    me without water or
    something to suck on
    or a blanket to hold
    and I was so thirsty.

     

    without noticing, I was suddenly
    surrounded by people at some outdoor
    art show and I averted all the eyes
    and tugged at my sundress;
    the bottom always slipped up and
    i could tell that they wanted to eat
    my upper thighs,
    see my tan lines.
       you are cold and dry
    my tongue was dry but I was hot that day
    so men were everywhere,
    my lips were open to keep
    my jaw from shutting
    and I don’t know how I got to the
    park that day but let me tell you
    that when my jaw started to shut,
    I said nothing to anyone in that crowd.
    I took my hand,
    cavalier about it,
    gave a quick eye over my shoulder
      and opened my mouth with force
    and continued not a break in saunter,
    me terrified and looking for water
    scared to shut my jaw.

    you asked what living in perpetual fear
    feels like and it is this.

     

    “how guys save me in their phone #9”

  • I am releasing the stiffness:
    years of posing, postured
    and pacing, chasing
    gratification.
    I’m indulgent at
    least, greedy when
    touched and hoarding.

     

    when you drop the straw,
    the miracle happens.

     

    clutching at the edges of everything

  • all day long
    I vacillate between intention
    and immediate withdrawal;
    my habits, my beloved

    hermeticism and the double meaning of
    everything and I’m
    ambivalent about every choice
    I’ve given myself over to–
    even in completion,
    I shrug.
    let the wind take me.

  • _DSC2910 (1).jpg

    show us the man behind the curtain!

  • “I am moved by fancies that are curled; Around these images, and cling; The notion of some infinitely gentle; Infinitely suffering thing.”

     

    –TS Eliot

  •  

    Ive watched my nervousness

    eat me daily,
    clutch me with its
    indecision   I am robed in
    rosary, nodding, chanting throughout
    the day but really I am
        fickle
    is the first thing I write about myself
     and I am always
    holding something somewhere in
    my body.
    like a claw lives inside
    my jaw line and now
    I have TMJ

           what’s that? sometimes
    they wait.

    a psychosomatic disorder where your
    jaw locks when you’re chewing
    and you slowly start to choke.

    well not everyone chokes.
    I just started to choke
    when it closed the first time.

    “the drowning”

  • carried with her
    a weapon: her keys in hand,
    a disarming speech pattern
    and no reason to suspect
    her about anything.

    I never tell a lie,
    she said
    leading me to
    someone else’s house.

     


    (how do you get away with that?)


    I just never finish the story,
    she said and I
    hung there like a
    Christmas ornament
    glistening in her iris.

     

    “How guys save me in their phone #6”

  • She hit him hard with the paddle before he had a chance to speak.
     “Ow! Fuck! Why did you do that?”
    He looked over at her.
     “No, not fair.”
     She set the paddle on the night stand.
     “All is fair in sex and war.”
     “I’m onto you.”
     She walked towards the door. Her heels made sound and they hadn’t before. At some point during the last story, she had put stilletoes on.
     “Where are you going?”
     She kept walking without turning around.
     “You only get one question and I didn’t respond to that one.”
     She turned to face him at the door.
     “Why did I do it? Because I could.”
     They stared at each other. He felt the sting from the paddle on his left thigh, fading.
     “You’ll love the next story. You may recognize it. It’s The 13th Story.”
     He looked puzzled.
     “No, it’s the third story.”
     She smiled.
     “Oh maybe you are catching on.”
     She winked and walked out. He felt the sting from the paddle disappear. He replayed her words you may recognize it. He listened to her heels clack down the empty hallway further away from him. He wanted to call her a bitch out loud but was scared she could still hear him somehow.

  • Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.
    Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
    And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
    That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
    Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
    And when we meet at any time again,
    Be it not seen in either of our brows
    That we one jot of former love retain.
    Now at the last gasp of Love’s latest breath,
    When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
    When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
    And Innocence is closing up his eyes—
    Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
    From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!
    –Michael Drayton

  • “Just say yes and step into the consequence.”

    –kaveh akbar, calling a wolf a wolf

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