This first thing you notice when you enter Is the biting pickle-stench of formalin. Next your eyes process the skinned body on the wall. Third is the murmuring ambience of cold forensics while you work. Finally, your hands grip the smooth dossier. You are reading it aloud: At 6 p.m. the victim was discovered byContinue reading “This Website is a Crime Scene”
Category Archives: Poetry
Humanus ex Machina
My Byronic hero was a bionic man. His steam powered heart, clad in adamantine defense, Repelled every minor assault like nuclear Armageddon. His iron calves flexed hard, propelling him in endless loops Through a roundabout of ambivalence, Crashing into stone walls that fell prostrate at his feet. Each evening I’d rest against him, Hear hisContinue reading “Humanus ex Machina”
Summer’s End
September greets me with intricate webs Woven diagonally from the gutter to the porch rail. Last night, silken spellcasters launched A veil of protection over my home To catch the summer’s last mosquitos for breakfast. Eating my breakfast, I gaze into the morning fog, Wondering if I had eight magic hands, what would I catch?Continue reading “Summer’s End”
Parasitophilia
Someone kept stealing his bicycles, So he covets things that take. Like the men who robbed him once On a dark Ohio street, And the chaga growing maliciously On the innocent white oak. Actually, I liked it When he latched on my clit and gorged. Daddy issues beget caterpillars And cordyceps the same.
Try, Try, Try
The gymnast tears muscles and grows them back stronger. The violinist breaks strings and earns first chair. The infant cries a hundred days and then, suddenly, smiles. How far do fledgling eagles fall Before learning how to soar? The falling and the flying, They’re all one thing.
Gunslinger
“Don’t go in guns a-blazing” Good advice. But it’s in my nature To shoot first and ask questions during The cigarette hour. Bitter ashes. But at least they’re mine. I’ll take my happiness With a side of burnt lungs And bullet shells.
The Dog Dies
“I trust you” Decadent words. Like food offered, gently To an oft-beaten dog. I am wary. Yet, I long to be someone who trusts. Who bounds toward others full speed. Thoughtless. Tail wagging and eyes open wide. So I trust you, too. I trust you Until struck between the eyes. I’ll love you like OldContinue reading “The Dog Dies”
This Poor Pepper
Published in The Pigeon Parade Quarterly: Heal The molding banana pepper Sits, deflated, in the crisper drawer. I wish I could wave a hand over it And restore it to a past life. Back to when it was plump and spicy, Or a bulge swelling off a stem. Now any vitality that remains Is foodContinue reading “This Poor Pepper”
Trauma
Published in The Pigeon Parade Quarterly: Bleed I am done, then undone; Healed, then opened. Each interaction like shears Cutting fresh stitches from the time before. I see you and my body prepares for hurt. You are visceral. I try to keep it covered I try to keep it in. The physician reminds me, casually,Continue reading “Trauma”
The Wisdom of Nesting Dolls
Published in The Pigeon Parade Quarterly: Migrant I rarely think about my uterus, but I feel her. I touch my low torso, absently. I contract and expand. When I was young, I cried over the “before.” That blank space where I know history happened, But I hadn’t yet. Now I know the truth That IContinue reading “The Wisdom of Nesting Dolls”