August 18, 2011

Still Drafting

well the sky was a dark navy
as in, darker than my grandfather's navy blue suit
the one he wore while he saw people die?
the stars in the sky were absent,
so the formality of the buttoned-up buttons
of his navy blue suit
was nothing like the casual heavens above me
the world was inappropriately silent, save for my thoughts
anyways, a deer was hit, right in front of me while driving.
all i saw though, was the result:
a beast, larger than you and me,
rolling and kicking as though it was a beetle
flipped onto its back
by some laughing child.

its eyes were wild and unnatural
caught in limbo, the deer used its spine to shuffle off to the side of the road
and i drove away.

that's what i had wanted to do
at that one funeral?
it's hard to think about how i didn't recognize that he's gone.
did he recognize that those people around him were going, too?
did he know?
or maybe it only just hit him,
years after the guilt had stopped fluctuating,
that he was dying, too,
and maybe joining all those people who saw him see them in his navy blue suit.

questioning methods of psychology

there's a world
that i visit every so often
you wouldn't know it
because only i can get there
i'll walk down the main street
and my shadows won't meet at my feet
but i think about what i see
past memories
shaded black
faded grey
they swarm into buildings
until a city looms up and swallows me whole
and i'm in the sewers again
where i see my future in this world
and i have to grab the ladder
and climb back out
an obnoxious process that,
usually, takes no more than four days.
so i'll see you all when i get back

July 27, 2011

I Know You've Already Read the Message, So What's Taking So Long?

The Beatles pump vibrations into my body
as I lay with my face smooshed into the velvety
turquoise of some pillow from Kohl's.
Purely offkey, I scream.
I have no rhythm, I have no melodic instinct.
The vibrations are on full force as the song switches to
You Don't Know Me and I think it's so mismatched from my own heartbeat
that my blood-pumps may be restarted
and I'll have a heart attack
and I'll never be able to respond
to that damn text message
that I still haven't gotten back.

June 24, 2011

Hobo Romance

I had been told that the 30th street station was basically across the street. In actuality, it was two blocks forward and three blocks left. While crossing a road, the sky decided I hadn’t been caught in the rain in a while. It opened its cloud and spewed down a river. The river must’ve had a dam somewhere up there though, because the rain only lasted two minutes. Finally, I pushed open the doors to the station. I followed the signs. I was 30 feet from the booth that would get me some tickets. “Boy you sure are a good lookin’ girl.” A man whose yellowed eye-whites circled earnest blue eyes had begun popping his feet down fast enough to keep up with my pace. He had come out of nowhere. “Are you single?” he asked of me. Immediately a swarm of metallic spiders crawled between my shoulder blades and nestled into the skin at the nape of my neck. My fingers, now turned to macaw feathers, instinctually slipped the cheap turquoise ring that I had bought for myself from my right hand to my left. “Yea, I’m actually married.” It was the spiders who whispered this voice through to the real world. Only belatedly did I add, “sorry.” He grinned and he bore it. His face was just about as wrinkled as the waves in his faded blonde hair. A lone metallic spider scurried into my nose. He smelt of grime, or at least the spider conversed with my eyes and concluded that the filth I could see under his fingernails would probably insinuate such a scent. I couldn’t stop smiling at this man. He seemed so nice, so genuine, so lonely, and yet so very chipper. I could see myself with this man. We could hang out in train stations, talking about what we could see. We could both never shower, and we could share secret smiling glances about the things that no one else would ever notice, because, really, we would be the only happy couple skulking around the train station. His brown jacket looked worn and comfortable. I know that he once was a young man, possibly handsome, probably happy. I awkwardly looked away; another spider had crawled into my socket and told me not to make eye contact. As the man’s feet issued quieter pops (distance does that to sound), he turned back and called out, “He’s a lucky one! You’re a real catch, and you’re gorgeous, too!” The metallic spiders melted away, as I realized that I was once again completely safe in being alone.

June 7, 2011

An unfinished painting and a photo from last summer:

Job Watering Plants

Life seeps in and then swells!
Life seeps in and then swells.
These plants are breathing.
Dirt, earth, brown must
musk, making me melt.
The mulch moves my emotions
back to finger-painting days.
The tomatoes are heady.
I want to mix their smell with
olives and snack on summers
spent in sixth grade.
The thyme is fresh.
Sequins of nature vibrate
and giggle; they know
I want to dance, too.
These fill my nose
but all I can think is,
dear customers,
stop stepping on the damn hose.