Metallic nails with flecks of green, metallic eyes pierce me, crystallize my insides, and — ping–pong–ping — your light reflects through me. Then the warmth dissolving my chest until — what’s this? — flowers pouring out onto my embrace until through my arms they burst and a river of flowers floods over my dam hands.
Tag: heart book
Condition
I don't know how to break this to you: you have a heart… some sweet swelling; then, catastrophe — all the blood squeezed out till one wonders will it ever flow again, those milk and honey days? Like days and seasons throbbing with two reasons: one in upkeep, the other open to arcs replete with sun and rain, cold and heat.
Chapman
Munch and marvel upon the apple. Its planter’s footsteps tread on. We share this future time with him: its tang on our lips.
Contraction
One touch turns my clear, cold lake ashimmer, Triggers my steady stream of smoke into a plume of vortexes. I pull my skirt down; still, my ridiculous, silky legs form an arrow as bright as a billboard advertising that cleft in my soul, beating in my stomach. Your seawater seeps into my clam, irritating my muscle, violating my space. You fucker, sticking a thumb into my polished lens that held a million colors: a thumbprint rending all my pictures blurry. My body quakes with chain reaction: I will never be whole again. My life condemned: a vain attempt to protect this urchin part of me — Only for it to continue on into as many grains of sand in the sea.
Les Miserables
Not the ruby baubles the factory man works so hard to impress, But the slumbering body relieved of its day’s demands… and perhaps a lay–in Saturday morning
Golden Mean
Baby, my porridge is not father’s: don’t take it all so much and improperly digest it. Papa, my porridge is not Baby’s: it’s not so small to dismiss as a mere toddler’s trifling. Oh, mama, can’t you see: I’m human. Let us sup together; perhaps you aren’t so unbearable.
Donald Duck Inflatable Arm–bands
Here I am in my ocean again. You pushed me or I threw myself in at the sight of you, at the quake of you running through my boards. A sunny day and a light breeze dancing upon the waves enchant me and make it hard to see — well, them or your eyes. I don’t mind loosing ground; I wade or fathom, now: your ocean or mine? I invite you in. Either I would hold my breath to explore your depths or would you provide some oxygen?
Tyrant
Holy brothers, you escort your sandcastles’ beauty and gracefully cast it into the river. I imagine relinquishing likewise: why is it a crummy kingdom I uphold?
Crinkle
The night wind rushes through dying embers; they burn just the same.
Rumpelstiltskin
Pa, I know the stubble of your beard. You kissed me goodnight after you missed dinner, working late. I take that stubble to my grave. I tell God about your stubble. Those nights you let me shine the light for you under the car I have absorbed all of that light. I am full of that light. When you hinted I might be another Einstein I am an Einstein so as to fulfill your pride of me. Your insight that I need no other guidance but my own I turn this straw into gold. Pa, perhaps this story is incomplete It is enough. Thank you, Dave