Sunday, May 13, 2012

serenity now

stomp on the girl with cleats, step on her back and break it, she is what wiggles within your spine and saps it of dignity. sometimes strength is in your serenity, when your lips stand up taller than you. the corners of your mouth, the corners of the room, turning up turning over, not wrinkled and falling in. speak with your tongue, and not your teeth. you bite, you bleed me. you don't remember even though you were there. If you're going to be absent-minded, I'd prefer you were absent.
Posted by at

2 comments:

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

  • Memoir of a Memoir: Week 7
    Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
  • storm
    driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
  • small stone #7
    strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
  • in tact
    sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
  • Memoir of a Memoir: Week 6
    My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
  • (no title)
    Cal, For Elizabeth Bishop You are American gossip, Didn't anyone have the heart to tell you? You said yourself, you are fantastic and u...
  • For the unlovely
    I am the palm touching my cheek, and hiding my face, I am dead nerve endings--pulsating alive again, I am the little girl who cuddles viciou...
  • Memoir of a Memoir: Week 3
    I took a week off from writing this lovely, to take a bite out of a creamy, syrupy, delicious chunk of my memoir. I have begun to tackle the...
  • in dreams
    In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
  • indigo
    as I left the waterfront and I climbed up the sandy stair as always his brothers were first; to greet me. I've had past dealings with th...

Poets United Contributor