It’ll always be tacky—
the first subject of the rookie artist—
but there’s primal beauty,
(and beautiful primality)
in the rising of the sun,
that no amount of clumsy analogizing,
or heavy-handed brushwork
could ever wholly dispel.
Covenance
What is a promise
but an attempt to pre-write history?
We all know these words are lies,
and yet we say them with conviction,
because we mean them,
as sincerely as we can mean anything.
A promise is a still-life portrait,
of a moment in time, where
our desires were powerful enough
to unmake the rules.
but an attempt to pre-write history?
We all know these words are lies,
and yet we say them with conviction,
because we mean them,
as sincerely as we can mean anything.
A promise is a still-life portrait,
of a moment in time, where
our desires were powerful enough
to unmake the rules.
Birthstones
Each of us was passed through
the guts of our mother,
like a swallowed stone.
Even after they shat our slimy bodies
into the arms of a stranger,
they still had to carry us home.
They carried us out of the emptiness,
and through the years of swirling dark,
until we were old enough to hate them for it.
——————
I’m sorry, mom.
I’m sorry I saw you
as a sad little girl
who swallowed a magic pebble
so she would never be lonely again;
because maybe that was true,
when our story began,
but you became so much more,
a woman, a mother,
an Orphic heroine.
And yet, you never stopped being sad,
or even lonely.
and despite our combined efforts,
I’m just like you,
minus me.
the guts of our mother,
like a swallowed stone.
Even after they shat our slimy bodies
into the arms of a stranger,
they still had to carry us home.
They carried us out of the emptiness,
and through the years of swirling dark,
until we were old enough to hate them for it.
——————
I’m sorry, mom.
I’m sorry I saw you
as a sad little girl
who swallowed a magic pebble
so she would never be lonely again;
because maybe that was true,
when our story began,
but you became so much more,
a woman, a mother,
an Orphic heroine.
And yet, you never stopped being sad,
or even lonely.
and despite our combined efforts,
I’m just like you,
minus me.
Parasitic Twins
I read once that if you want to expel a tapeworm,
you can starve yourself for a few days, then hold your face
over a pot of simmering buttermilk.
Sometimes I sit and stare at this blinking cursor,
because I feel like there must be something inside of me,
feeding. I want to feel it slither.
Up, and out.
I want to be unimpressed at the sight of it,
writhing, dying under the electric light.
I want to be overwhelmed by the ordinariness,
of the things that I consume and that consume me.
I want to be well.
you can starve yourself for a few days, then hold your face
over a pot of simmering buttermilk.
Sometimes I sit and stare at this blinking cursor,
because I feel like there must be something inside of me,
feeding. I want to feel it slither.
Up, and out.
I want to be unimpressed at the sight of it,
writhing, dying under the electric light.
I want to be overwhelmed by the ordinariness,
of the things that I consume and that consume me.
I want to be well.
Exody
I am standing on the doorstep
looking back into my darkened home,
one hand resting stubbornly on the handle,
just watching, breathing, blinking—waiting.
I look as though I’m checking
to see if I’ve forgotten anything,
but really I’m just afraid—afraid
of letting go and of taking those first steps.
I have always been so afraid.
looking back into my darkened home,
one hand resting stubbornly on the handle,
just watching, breathing, blinking—waiting.
I look as though I’m checking
to see if I’ve forgotten anything,
but really I’m just afraid—afraid
of letting go and of taking those first steps.
I have always been so afraid.
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