will this be what remains of me: the hours worked, certificates gained, events attended? will this be the face, reflected in the gallery of eyes, that never saw me as i was? will this be the voice still reverberating, writhing on airwaves, spouting scripted speech spuriously? will this be the book, writing on the pages…
Tag: Dark
Peepshow From a Peephole – A Huitan
one can never be too sure of these things, meaning matters of men and their secrets. who knows what dread a friendly word may bring? the snare is in plain view, though few seek it. sleeping dogs may lie, but a man, he sits, waiting to descend when your back is turned, and test if…
Sister Moon – A Haiku
sister moon above estranged apart divided gentle guiding light
Scribbling Autumn
pen of time scribbling autumn dripping ink shaded charcoal upon the page – embraced in black all color eroded swallowed in its muted gaze monochromed silenced – hush the whir of vehicles ambience inhale the smoke of moonless nights – the last word written upon the page blending lost within a stained season
Midwestern Folk
there’s something about midwestern folk hidden in the pine and oak lurking in plain view unsettling – warm façade, mad laughter, grin askew venom tongues drip beaded dew grifting and peddling con artists – faced with change they commence with nettling if that won’t work then kettling purged weeds for harvest cut down quick –…
There She Lays – A Spenserian Poem
perched atop a spiral stair observing the tile work craftsmanship fairest of fair elegance no detail shirked grim voices in darkness lurk draws her notice and her gaze anxious feeling in her irked doomed to spiral in a daze down and down and there she lays
Vagrant – A Haiku
misty eyed vagrant leaving home autumn at dusk cold wind at his back
Flooded Beaches
on flooded beaches sea life strewn upon the shore gasping their last breath – the moon hangs above clouds pass like windswept petals blackening the sky – out upon the waves a ship wrecks and no one knows corpses crowned with foam – deep sea songs echo cries of the damned harmonize drifting on the…
Filthy God – A Hybrid Cento
she didn’t have time to suffer, or even to grieve, each time he’d thrust his organ deeply into her, her face had distorted. each time he did so, the squeals turned to something like sobs. the small hole in the pink that peeked out between the lips of her vagina would remain open at those…
Snapshots of a Small Town
shore leave on sunday local priest smirks condescendingly dark knowledge spilling out over the rim of that pristine white collar. – watch that boy ducking into the cracks in the wall wife alone and desperate for a taste of something new stirring the pot with a thick wooden spoon until hubby gets home. dinner’s ready….
Piecework Prose 