Tuesday, January 24, 2012

subject to change:

in a shallow bowl with a spoon
i drip out, thick over rice.

everyone i press against leaves
a red inked stain on my forehead

an itching that cannot be toothcombed from skin.


dressed up
like a monday

i unpeel chin from chest

two birds
my very own paper hands
float out across the body.

speaking only in past tense
i hate everything
about expectation i tell him

my socks and then my sweater
a lumpy wool tower by the door.

mottled in flesh bitten plastic bags
we extend
sounds from pink corners of mouths.

no one is waiting at home.
just too warm bottoms of feet
that can't sit still for long.

Monday, January 23, 2012

your wings unfold

with the hollowed bird bones of an all grown up victim
you tie red ribbon around
sandpaper wrists

done, you tell her
to react.
a self declared brush
press the warm
tricolored promise over her mouth.

to dust out intention.


a monster without fangs or fiery breath, it lowers towards me
divides into grapesized whispers.

unglassesed against the pillow
i rattle beneath blankets
willing it away,

open eyes
only find it trembling towards me