The fear of losing all my loved ones:

Mother, father, lover.

Close in age and ailing,

They create the unstated physics

By which I live.  Without it,

I would float from my gravity.

The fear of growing old, creased by regret.

The fear of your knowing these fears

Are only the beginning.  What if my heart

Starts foraging in alleys for scraps?

I fear you may ( Read more... )

I have to write something that makes me not forget this place.  Here I am, at the better half of twenty-two and the limp parts of my organs are telling me that perhaps these are the best years of my life.  And to be so young and so lost in nostalgia for the way things were seems a bitter curse.  Never having enough when I’ve had security promised ( Read more... )

As we pour out our hearts into pulsing emoceans turning, churning, twisting, and yearning in tangoceans this body becomes a sick, slick, whirpool fool spinning things-sampling the new and old, cross-fading them to echo the ebb and flow of salient emseas set sail on this sea of bodies.

Bodies of water transform us into somebodies living life in ( Read more... )

Writing our cigarettes

We just got used to home

And now we’re foreign

(excuse me-international)

to this town again.

And I don’t want to leave the house.

I just want to hang out with the cross-eyed cat

Because he likes the things that I like

Because he’s a cat.  Every time I ride my bike

And imagine that my voice is going on before me,

I start to have ( Read more... )

3:30 in the morning, the middle of September.  The sunrise is slumbering peacefully, on the other side of the volcanoes, three sisters watching over the dusty city with caring eyes.  My lazy eyelids crack a bit and, peering through the sallow crust braided into my eyelashes and the tiny crevices of tired wrinkles, my eyes paint a portrait of ( Read more... )

Maxine tells me that the inspiration comes from something you must write. I tell her I write because I must.  So why I haven’t I been writing.  This is no dyer situation.  No give me writing or give me death.  I am, after all, no patriot to the pen.  Maybe I just have a mouthful or a belly ache and misdirection leads me to believe that writing is ( Read more... )

White noise elbowing my way through the spiked shadows between Desire and Piety.  A glint of hope in dem blue eyes, cradling a promise of future like the baby palming bits of emerald glass she calls jewelry.  Mama slaps her hand down, busy sucking on that grit crushing sunlight between her teeth.  That oyster mouth and its sinking pearl, tonguing ( Read more... )

Dear jadey,

I have to confess I’m having one of those premature nostalgic reflections on youth, thinking in really fake yet earnest British accent, “Oh!  Do you remember what it was like to be young and in love?  Do you remember when we first met, passing each other on the bridge that fortuitous afternoon in the fall of your first year at ( Read more... )

“Twenty-two is a good year,” I’ll say some time in a reflection on my youth.  When my body fades and silver puddles of hair gather in the drains.  Wrinkles will settle into the corners and crevices of my face as my youthful disposition sours and a somber haze is cast over the whites of my eyes.  My freckles, once tiny masterpieces, will begin to ( Read more... )

eviscerate: to remove the guts
concupiscent: sensuous/lustful; eagerly desirous
apostasy: Total desertion or departure from one's faith, principles, or party.
bedaub: 1. To smudge over; to besmear or soil with anything thick and dirty.  2. To overdecorate; to ornament showily or excessively.
ukase:1. In imperial Russia, a published proclamation or ( Read more... )