exponential self-depreciation.
the first time
my father
caught me
with a cigarette
in between my lips,
he told me to love myself
and that I was burning up
my value on earth—
self-depreciating
with every drag
of perfumed smoke.
it’s not my fault
that I burn hot
full of hate—
it’s not my fault
that I feel like an inferno
and the plumes of grey
make me feel so complete,
a lovely contrast of sky
against my heavy bones.
he told me to save myself
but I am not an heirloom
to be passed down like
a half-forgotten memory
and if I choose to,
I can immolate myself
as quickly or as slowly
as I damn well please.
Typewriter jazz
drips like watercolor
into the tear-flooded
chambers
of your half-hollow
heart,
And the alleyways
on the back of your hand
wind like boy scout knots
and nooses
made by men
who sing the blues
but everyday save their necks
from it
Because hand-painted tiles
on their mothers’
kitchen floors
remind them that they don’t have to
be marble monuments
to survive
history.
carousel light for your flower in the sun
double syndicate flub,
cut with rust
trust your fetcher,
human bombers flight with dragon jaws dug in,
wires vibrate latent mainframe
in endless microphone loop-
aberation of the dreary gate,
agreeable macabre sentient to delusion,
blazing exasperation
type written across
high language they speak,
today I rode a green tiger-
itch
scales swallowing your heart
while sandbags fill the veins inside you
like the litter in the rivers of the long, broad amazon;
you are the amazon, but your body
cannot move that way, it doesn’t
move enough for someone who is trapped —
take your pills
no
take your pills
no
take your pills
no
three hundred is the charm, or at least you’re hoping, because the morphine is so heavy in your head.
The Age of the Caves
isn’t it silly how quick
we lose our wits, and we wait
a few days before we chase
after our right minds, and in that
time we start to play with the
empty spaces that surround us
-let them cave in, and shade us
from reality, and we dance and sing
and believe to be in harmony, but then
something shifts and darkness starts
to itch, and we don’t feel quite so
surreal, anymore;
She was like that of coffee stains
faded yet still lingering
you could measure her years by the rings left on the table
the one she spent her evenings upon evenings
pouring her heart out onto loose leaf paper,
cancelling commitments,
and shooting scalding caffeine into her veins
attempting to drown out the pain
but all it did was turn everything a distasteful shade of yellow
and bury her further underneath
all the regret and sorrow
because out the windowsill to her left
life kept passing her by
wishing and waiting for her to come back
but alas the aroma of coffee beans consumed her
and she faded into the pen grooves on the table
for life anymore was just a fading blur…
Little Scary One
Hey there, little scary one
why sell yourself so short?
I find you to be shockingly therapuetic
your interest is a tendril sliding through every thought
Button down your coat
taking sweet time in detail on every movement over the fragment
we are going out tonight
not to the place that trips on bland memory
but the dance that forges its way through the murky waters of tomorrow
Ever-changing and so silent now
whispers kiss your lips like crumbs
a promise curiously kept and locked away
I could know you, for a spell
/ /
incumbent in the / locomotive friary
the junipers are / all told and slight.
The roofs are / bespectacled by /
numismatic permutations/ having told
and slight / . Unchangeable faces
glide beknowst / above the gray. /
Anchors / float / on the lips of abyss
leaves us / flashing bright / bough
before we know / we’ve taken lightly
slightly some / gracious mendicant.
LILY DUFFY
I HAVE A TWIN HER NAME IS COME BACK
This is not a laxity this is
talk-learning. On a path I blinked
a few times and then what. Nausea.
Excellent bite-reception while
buckling my Indoors Harness, talking shit
to a mirror like, you want
sassy I got sassy and then immediately
more nausea. When I am making
elaborate hand gestures which incorporate
my overnight bag you need to
back up. If someone doesn’t take me
back to the mall in
the next thirty minutes I am going to
actually swallow this animatronic
keychain.
gingerbread witch
an oak tree in her azalea bush
three women in her bed
i loved her for being more
mixed up than me
in and out of her head
she had a thing for chickens
for rats and guinea pigs
she trusted the luck of small things
yet did not care for kids
too human she said
but still i took my brood
for her to heal
with the hens brown eggs
the children were afraid
and better for it
i believe
You can pack your life in one suitcase
you like to travel light
as worries are heavy to carry
Some people travel to find themselves
you are trying to get lost
you keep moving so your thoughts
wouldn’t catch up with you
You leave traces to places you’ve been
but finding you would be impossible
you have already gone with the storm.
