An ArtisteWhen I was seven, I decided that I wanted to be an artiste, and simply stopped eating. I put my sobriety in a box, with bricks and threw it in the sea. Ka-splash!An Artiste
I took my innocence and I put it in a sack and I beat it, 'til it wouldn't come home. I threw my smile in the basket by the bed and set the furs on fire. Woomf!
My fears, however! Misery I wrapped in chains of pyrite, and praised it to be gold. (As fools are wont to do.)
Of loneliness, I made a hook and threw it out to sea. Out came a soulmate! Another! (They lasted half a
Stranger, Memory, PhantomI. A Stranger In My BedStranger, Memory, Phantom
There is a stranger in my bed.
He has stolen my skin; sewn salt on sinew and bone and torn my hair. My eyes, he lines with kohl and blinds with droll remarks and fateful estimations.
It was he who said such hateful things, not I. Not I.
II. A Memory On My Pillow
When morning came you left me a memory on my pillow. A picture of yourself in silver light and mist.
History falls aside as you, my bride, ignite. The cups, the plates, the dish and spoon, have w
At Cave-MouthI find, buried beneath reed-strapped ribs and afore skin stretched spine an absence.At Cave-Mouth
It is not, take heart, my heart, but within it.
A curse, my mother muttered, on apples and orchards, come clad in white - in dead of night - to rob, ravenous, the trees of infant fruit.
Gnashing, gnawing; it borders on boring to watch.
Eyes slide behind shadows and into the pitted holes of the skull. Lips twitch.
I feel thinner, or perhaps it is merely my elbows aching? The black box
The Ruins V
He Bought HimselfHe Bought HimselfHe Bought Himself
one morning one of the mornings he left early from work he left work early signed himself out of work early with a reason giving a plausible reason one morning he did and bought
bought himself he bought for himself a new one within six blocks of his house just past the aisle with the light fixtures and fifteen watt bulbs just past
ten one morning after he left early just across from the new appliances they sell there he bought himself wandering dizzy through the crow
Writer's BlockWriter’s BlockWriter's Block
(2:00p.m.) Defending a very reasonable
sixty-eight degrees, the air-conditioning will go on
again in about forty-five seconds, stirring the hair and lint tufts that litter the floor: onyx whips and puffed BBs –
black and blue respectively. I know their number.
I have lain, lie, will lie
prone here, facing my AIWA CARRY COMPONENT SYSTEM [CA-W35] with ONE-TOUCH RECORDING HIGH SPEED DUBBING
Back
--
"I am not an angel and do not pretend to be. That is not one of my roles. But I am not the devil either. I am a woman and a serious artist, and I would like so to be judged." (Maria Callas)
'half-hearted valentine'
glad you enjoy
the poems
feel free to add me
xo!
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