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Castaway Sings Love Song There comes a time cast in September’s seaCastaway Sings Love Song by ~PetrarchCameToBed
Desirous and near drowning in the wind
By chance just strong enough to carry me
Across the muddled mornings that begin
With pigtail braids and lipstick smeared and soft
That tracks our histories in skin’s slight hollows
For love, like stars, we hoist the sails aloft
And every trail the dead men spin, we follow
But never in mornings have I thought
Of golds and purples strung around the neck
The devil grown within me, I have caught
And trapped within the boughs of this ship’s wreck
But I have kept some mutterings and swears
Undone like faded ribbons in my hair
Haiku frosted octoberHaiku by ~PetrarchCameToBed
keeps rivers stalled at the sea
we’re landlocked like this.
Autobiology You shoot me in the headAutobiology by ~PetrarchCameToBed
when I oversleep, move the
cradle of the gun from your
fingers to mine and spend
two hours mimicking the
exact dip and curl of my
handwriting.
And you flee the scene and
light your evening by
coiling gas lines and
cursing the fact that I
kept a garden until the
day I died.
inside me when the reactions
stop I find that there are
still scorch marks on my
skin and the man at the
gate of heaven thinks
I’ll burn whatever lives.
so the angels chain me to
a swingset where I can only
fly as far as my ass can carry
me, and water pools with
industrial waste at my feet.
there’s pollen and gunp
The Anti-Dedication You're sixty-four years old and livingThe Anti-Dedication by ~PetrarchCameToBed
in pixel-perfect technicolor in a universe
you created where there's some kind of
conspiracy about the rainforest or what's
left of it anyway-- who'll own it,
Macintosh or Microsoft. They ask you to
take a quick look-see and judge for yourself.
So it's a long trek through the forest,
greeting the bulldozer men on their
coffee break, moving with the calculated
deliberation of the sloth several thousand feet
above you. It's a stroll at first, soon a light
jog, but it doesn't take long to become a
there-are-wild-animals-chasing-me-and-I-like-
my-ass-where-it-is-thanks b
Three In the dusk-yellow sunshine of the desert, the morning wind is crackling like static over the sand. It breathes salt, breathes sore throats and raw skin against the red mountains. The crows are croaking again, low and harsh and rattling like the final breaths of a half-dead man.Three by ~scurveydog
This man is alive. He crawls spidery and long-limbed against the dirt-rimed cliffs, lost now in a patch of purple shadow. Now here he is in the sunlight, new and watery, and his skin is red and peeling, and the snatches that have fallen off flutter to the dunes below like snow. This man is alive
(alive for now)
alive for the hot cruel scratch scratch of the sun on
Doorways She writes the note to your parents with the same handDoorways by ~AlmightyGammy
she held the ruler with. She is left-handed and assures
them it is a miracle she detected it so soon. You get
glasses instead. Every year a little bit thicker, but you wear
them well and when you take them off, the world
is much smoother. Vaseline edges and shadowy glows.
When your last prescription runs out, we’ll go
to the house at the bay and throw glass bottles at the sun.
But dragonfly bites only graze my arms
in the afternoon. You’re searching for silhouettes in the hallway
while I have old friends for tea. Chamomile
with rustling leaves. Honey with wind chime
Halinka There are mini-vans for two blocksHalinka by ~AlmightyGammy
on either side of your porch.
Macaroni in the oven
and champagne flutes
already broken. Your new brothers
are filling the kiddie pool with Corona
and someone just tried to feed the dog potpourri.
But at least the kids are safe.
The basement’s got carpet and cable.
You throw
soda and hot dogs down every few hours
and lock the door.
