the genre of god
is locksmith and that’s
why neon is always
looking for a sign :
essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
the genre of god
is locksmith and that’s
why neon is always
looking for a sign :
I swam in the Gulf of Thailand with you.
I held you, small as a kumquat, in my own dark, small sea.
I often think of telling you
There is something wrong with time here.
I’m not sure whether I age faster or, quite the contrary –
Once we’re introduced again, I’ll be annoying in my youth.
She’s pulling up weeds from the flowerbed
And then starts feeling one tug back,
Wrapping her water grip and dragging her
Through the claggy earth.
This rockmelon is bloated with guilt
Sweet, near-rancid, on the knife’s edge of festering
Press down and it will oblige
I had
one chance out of zero,
but spent a youth chasing
what I am still not.
points for you if you are boss of the building, every lock
warm at your fingertips, every door’s soft click
yours as it shuts, every window with your face
reflected in it.
douse it douse it douse it
strike a match and freeze the scene
Brown girl: you don’t get a plot twist. Your story’s been penned
with strokes as hollow as they are spiteful
I’m ready for the ritual
where I get crowned a
crone.
The moon will not go down again,
street lights will be on forever and drive
electricity bills into walls with no seatbelts
when a father is a control bar
made of wood
and the strings snap
the puppets fall