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Flint Hills
Kansas cracks her knuckles in the sun. The rambly cottonwood section on either side of Roller Coaster Hill starts swaying tamborine hands. Woosh, trembles the trees in a cannonball of forced wind. “Crime rises in the summer.” Fever pitches a fit, and blasts my face off. But no one takes my stomping feet — two Continue reading
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Oil and Rain
He asks exactly what I’m made of. I don’t say water. I don’t say two fish fucking. Can I talk common? I like getting caught in a corner with liquid rope– a goddess chain of oil and rain. [NaPoWriMo 15] Continue reading
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Mint
Being young and twenty is my primitive condition; and a slightly deflated ego is the state of my collegeexit. Smells like rubber–definitely not a rose, Mom.On a forgotten highway, past some straggly Kansas meadows, Mr. fresh-ex-boyfriendhas his Mom roll down thepassenger window to yell…You need to put air in your tires!Crucify me, Scotty! You suck.And Continue reading
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HIGH HOPES.
LULL me to sleep Frank, with winds– with toy balloons, whose fitful sounds Seem like some faint AEolian apple pie in the sky caught; I tire, Too much trouble bursted too soon, with much careLay a soft hand upon my brow, Frank, and cheek, ‘stead of lettin go Come peaceful Sleep! Move that rubber tree– Continue reading
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free art
gone mute in tonal grayi wake in appropriatesmallness;right sizeboldness comesin the disfigurationof obscurity;reworkingthe uncontrollableelements wovenof rain, of colorover my bodylike a big love;like a (m)orphism, not easily disrobed[NaPoWriMo 1]Art cred to František Kupka Mme Kupka among Verticals 1910-11 Continue reading
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fool-hardy
watcher of flesh cuts, tasked with tracking gray blue whales over all the heads. i suffer a heavy bonnet, and a softened bandaid on my left nostril. i can’t breathe when all the people overflow. preposterous about caring too much, predisposed not to believe that rash blood may absolutely be the result of a friend Continue reading
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Oculus
The girl who isn’t, and, likes quiet, sends up smoke signals for two days. For two days she repeats, “I am sad, and I don’t know why.” So, she begins to draw the outline of a heart, shading its borders with a brushed, artistic mascara. Now, by her hand, the interior of the heart sprouts Continue reading
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Decisive
There’s no explaining love, nor ancient things, nor steady things. Assured of nothing absolute, here is the curl of a lover’s lip. Here are the grooves of familiar finger tips. Unabashed and blatant — implicit in tacit agreement; We love. [for a late Weekend Writing prompt] Continue reading
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finely spun material 