essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
He was a black hole in a suit. An abyss in a necktie. And he sat down next to her on the train.
I’m a mess
A profaner of tombs
Devoted to graves
Except mine.
we kiss good-bye;
I wait for the kettle to boil. I am
happily waiting.
Pieces of me are escaping
through the pores
in the skin
of this room
I sleep on the left side of the bed
so you can be on the right
the soft drum of your snore
signaling peaceful dreams
making me smile
From prawn to prawn
the rib dries
unbleached,
aching this unbaked line:
yesterday blew
like a wind
tell me the main differences between salt and nothing.
i will tell you the similarities. i will tell you i need both.
A scream is trapped under my third rib where they perch on
like a perilous branch. I daydream of
You: hands on my throat
me: telling you I love you
Erin hesitates, watching. The old woman is there again, sitting on the swingset overlooking the valley
You know the opposite of moonlight is a nest woven by darkness,
and you know your heart is a place where people ache,
where people no longer feed their birds on fire.
what it would be like to be a skeleton.
what would happen if each dermal layer melted into the air
& my red stop light flesh went with it
without so much as a snap, crackle or pop?
Porridge 