Nov 15

Doodles #3

Oct 05

To The Girl Down the Street Who Used to Call

Aug 20

Cabbage Patch Blues

This season is one 
of rot and poison 
where buzzards circle 
and insects swarm;
Digging and burrowing 
through the layers of waxy leaves,
releasing rancid plumes
that drive out any other living thing. 
Scores of holes - tunnels 
rimmed with blackened sludge
and delving inwards 
where the damage has become far too deep.

This season is one 
where we stand 
in plumes of biting flies,
surrounded
by mounds of molted leaves
strewn across fields 
which used to be alive. 
 
Jun 10

Scrapyard Triolet

Among those mounds of cold barbed wire 
you seem much more at home.
Your heart belongs to thorns and briars
among those mounds of cold barbed wire.
And though you say you need to find her,
since we left her alone
among those mounds of cold barbed wire,
you seem much more at home.
 
Jun 10

Says The Girl Who Fell Triolet

“Don’t jump,” he said,
“From this height you will fly.”
But caring words are useless to the dead.
“(don’t) Jump” he said.
I guess those words had jumbled in my head.  
who knows what he had really meant, I
Don’t. “Jump,” he said,
“From this height you will fly.”

 
May 23

Context For A Twisted Ankle

May 12

To the Midnight Mourner

Late at night in the cover of darkness,
the young woman cries in her sleep.
She cries for the baby bird with the broken wings
who she buried early that morning.
She cries for her homeland,
a place where the sun never sets and the young never die.
She cries for her pots of flowers
that wilt in the wintery winds.
She cries for her brother,
her lover,
every man she knows,
because they are not permitted to cry for themselves.
She cries for her father,
who she never met,
and her mother,
who has become a stranger to her in this country.
She cries for her sister,
sent off to a loveless marriage far away.
Late at night, the young woman cries 
for everyone and everything she knows.
And she hopes,
that someone,
somewhere,
cries for her too.
 
May 12

Early Morning Vertigo

Who told the cormorant to dive so deep inside me?
No one. She chose to ride the midnight wind
and swoop through my body while I slept,
settling in as the sun began to rise.

And when the golden glow makes the shadows dance over to me,
and pry my eyes open in a sudden start,
I feel her tuck her wings,
hunching down before taking flight. 

If only I could warn her first,
that the walls of my chest surround her still,
And as she tries to lift up into the open air,
she’ll take my beating heart with her.

She drags it high above my ribs,
before plunging deep towards my guts.
She squirms, disturbing its constant rhythm,
twisting it around inside of me until my feet have hit the ground.

Then the all of a sudden her grip is broken,
and my heart resumes its job,
sending her spiraling out the window and into the sky,
a whooping cormorant made in waiting.

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