Gallery
Literature
Summer of Two o Nine , reworked
I.
I sit at my table, coffee's bitter taste
holding the worry at bay.
Hair in a bun, best my shaking hands
could manage in the dark.
I hide my smile in the cup as
Barry walks by, ignoring me.
My cheeks burn in memory
of a kiss, hours old now.
II.
The climb to the watchtower
forces sobriety into his lungs.
"What am I doing?" echoes
Between gasps of air, and the taste
of Kamikaze on Dani's lips
III.
I feel like I'm seventeen again.
Silly as it is, it keeps me warm in my empty bed
while Barry snuggles the couch.
Did it really take me cheating to get
My life to feel alive?
My pulse quickens, heart in my throat
I read the r
All
24 deviations
Literature
A House of Leaves and Cigarettes
"We represent all the people"
the man in the itchy gray suit said.
His office smelled new – fake even
not a thing out of place.
These words were echoing
in the vaulted Capitol building
amongst stomach growling
hunger and nervous glancing for familiar faces.
I tugged on the Brown Lady's sweater,
asking what time it was.
A stranger's face smiled at me.
She smelled like the woods and cigarettes,
bits of twigs in her shawl.
I asked where she lived,
she looked around the park
and smiled the lie away
"You are in my house."
The school chaperone pulled me away, or tried to
I stood- enthralled as they shouted at each other.
Featured
3 deviations
Literature
Swansong for the Immortal soul
Swansong for the immortal soul
Recollections of memories fade to
Distant obscurity, a twinge of understanding
That somehow they were important.
A road map of pain and pleasure, winding
About heart and body – digging under
The scar tissue reveals little,
Things best left hazy.
Each handful of terror and dust
Has a name, a purpose, a reason
For being; yet – little more is
Known save that something was once
In its place demanding attention.
What more is there, then, in the end
Of all things save faint recall of
Important matters and people – aside
For oft neglected musings of
Addled sounding memoirs.
The Muse is at the Center
10 deviations
Literature
What it all takes
What it all takes
My Mother's tears wash my ruined face,
vestiges of bloodless battles and
crisscrossing scar tissue melt under
the salt as the water runs from fore to chin.
My hands, unrecognizable to my eye,
absently wipe the river from lids heavy
with borrowed troubles and earned worries.
Great crags of flesh and angry red diminish
as life untainted flows across them. Half scared,
and half whole, I close my eyes and listen
to my heart and lungs, concentrating on the simpler things
of capillary action and muscle contractions; forgetting
the deadlines, wanton anger and reckless hatred
that flows ever readily from
Urania's Elegy
5 deviations
Literature
Douggie, Old Boy: the Tale of a Two-Bit Thug
The waves crash on the talus, muting
the noisy caddy as I pull up
to the edge. Its engine rumbles
in protest as the salt spray enters
the confines of the rusted junker.
The trunk creaks and moans, resisting my
efforts to open it quietly;
the slick bag, Douggie-sized slightly twitched
as I push it aside and pull out
the cinder block at the end of the
cable. "It didn't have to be this
way" Douggie simpered on smashed knees as
I bound his hands with a coat hanger.
I ignore his crying, just as I
know he did when Jane begged for her life.
I block out his moaning as I bolt
the weight to his broken legs, cinching
the cable to his
Of Many Minds
9 deviations