Tag Archives: surreal

mother asleep in the woods

mother glows as well as any

creature of the night can glow.

slivers of her are seen in

pools of shy moonlight and

untouched there is something

there that is so much like

comfort I catch myself reaching

for her.

 

mother’s fingertips are molded

from cigarette ash instead of crazy glue.

she is calling me to the kitchen and

drinking from a carton of milk.

 

mother draws distress signals

in the flour on the counter and

reminds me again how lucky I am.

I pull a pack of cards from

the corner junk drawer and

build a house while she weeps

like a picture star.

 

I am constantly seeing her face

through a coating of pale and

blush the color of winter’s trees,

and in my dreams I find her

asleep in the underbrush with

nothing but the muted hues

of herself, and I cry and

fall asleep too.

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buying time

balancing

on

golden

tightrope

sinews

only looks

intriguing

from a

fireproof

balcony

 

come down

and see

she is

stealing

breath

between all

of the

gunfire

 

she is aging

without

aging

they are

taking some-

thing

you cannot

see

behind her

ocean

eyes

 

she

gave up

her two

front

teeth are

in her

coin purse

buying

time

 

and

anyway

there is

a way

to

master

screaming

with your

mouth

sewn

shut

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expired

I am stuck standing in the

mud of a time where words got

knotted together because there was no

lack of voices in our home, just the constant

knocking of chatter against the windows and the

walls of weather, what’s-for-dinner

but all of it was like the tiniest of earthquakes in

my chest, that old reliable constant

loud or barely heard it was there,

the warmest grip on my bones in the

bluish hue of the television

 

but now

 

I am knocking on the walls and

holding my breath to hear if my

memories come pounding back, and setting a

table for a solitary two is only romantic

sometimes because there is a catch,

when you are exchanging

expired stories over breakfast eventually

they all run out and the silence comes,

that deafening reminder to turn up

the heat, turn up the radio, anything to

take the edge off

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Lucid

 

everything was buzzing with silence

when he

mummified her

in sterile sheets

the ones with the daisies

 

delicate

pinks and purples

his grandmother’s

 

she was lucid

so, so

lucid

she left and his words

rose quietly to her surface

so proudly

 

he knocked the lamp

the one on his side

of the bed

it crashed to the floor like an

amateur marching band

 

she lit up those flowers

like a hundred tiny stars

she sparkled with truth

like the fourth of july

 

he held his own head

like a bowling ball now

he ran to the closet and

locked himself inside

while their

bedroom lit up

like a smoke bomb

 

she freed herself and

blew a kiss towards the closet

good luck

she stepped over the lamp wreckage

closed the door, left him inside

 

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