Friday, July 15, 2011

I'd rather lay right here

sometimes it's a smell
but most of the time it's a song

I'm not even in love with you but I love you
and I'm not even in pain over you
but it's painful
when I think of your face, your lips, your cold cold heart

It's like we put a lock on that fence
but I can't seem to make it to Paris
to dive to the bottom of that river and find the key to set myself free.

the last memory I have is you eating a stale muffin.  I was wearing black.  You peddled away.  I didn't cry that time.

I don't want that.  I want everything before that.  Those old plans for the future.  California.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

must we always eat our own hands?

somewhere between life and dark
unsettling in the silence
like a hiccup
clanging symbols
an air horn

days like this I don't see anything.
all I wanted was a walk in the park
all I wanted was to linger
but I didn't really want it so here I am.

It's getting dark, it looks like rain.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

frogs and toads

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Friday, January 28, 2011

Photobucket

life brings death

I remember the death rattle and everything that happened in that room before and after.
When I was a little girl, the wallpaper. The dress-up drawer, hiding in the closet, the opening and closing of a music box. The ouiji board, god it scared the shit out of me. Cold and wet from the swimming pool, dripping in the kitchen.  Popsicles.
Then the hospital bed, the red lipstick over parched lips. The morphine injections and the subsequent urgency to remove clothing, the sagging breasts. The face-lift scar. Gold, emeralds, diamonds on every finger and every toe. The light filtered through shutters over wrinkled skin. That prayer. The smell of lilies. Fingers over eyelids. A man carrying away a corpse.