Sta.sh
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Total prizes reach 1000 
But of course there are always the rules......
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this journal and read the other works. now, onto the main event—
stairwell talkjason is a byproduct
of urban fray
and weathered charcoal dust
perched on steps
with scarred knuckles and cut lips
eyes smudged permanent black
plying operatic philosophies
"you know
that thing john lennon said
about telling his teacher
he wanted to grow up happy"
"yeah?"
"he lied
mostly because
everyone
wants
the world not to
tilt on its axis
and for nights
to stay faded indigo
and mostly
to be the kind of pretty
that makes people not care
if you're worth something
less than nothing"
"do you want to be happy?"
his eyes are very blue
and his lips start bleeding
so he parses words like
they each cost a dime
"everyone
wants
the world not to
tilt on its axis
and for nights
to stay faded indigo
and mostly
to be the kind of pretty
that makes people not care
if you're worth something
less than nothing"
Rorschach's BlotRorschach's Blot
Spiders and bears and misshapen trees,
when the swollen fruit drops it bursts into wren wings,
salamander tails shivering, the color of bruised plums.
It tastes so sweet, the tip of a beak.
With a straight pin, I peck at my arms,
a Pollock of blood, swarms of carnelian bees.
Sweet sweet stings. The poison sings.
They say hallucinations, the saints said visions.
"Ollie ollie oxen free," they call running through orchards,
the evening air loosening, a grace note of despair.
There was once an apple and it was bitten,
poor thing, all hell broke loose.
"Tell me what you see," he asks.
"White," I say, hospital sheet
"Sweet sweet stings. The poison sings.
They say hallucinations, the saints said visions.
"Ollie ollie oxen free," they call running through orchards,
the evening air loosening, a grace note of despair."
snippets 11-01-2013
(on blue-lined paper with a dark blue ink stain)
spiderweb memories
and another i will not trust:
swipe his eyes shut
and leave me to hang.
5-01-2013
(on torn printing paper)
sometimes i feel a flicker,
almost like an artificial light before it dies
or perhaps
the sun as it peeks out from a break
between murky storm clouds.
11-01-2013
(on blue-lined paper, aligned to the right)
portrayed without a
voice,
the cardboard barriers are
collapsing silently –
almost as if
the only resistance you
can claim is the
one you create and store
secretively behind
your bitter-brittle collarbone.
17-01-2013
(on the back
"( baked skin, red as a
sugar-crazy lollipop;
swollen blisters on the
backs of my feet, rubbed
raw to bloodied patches;
walking bare and flat-footed
across fiery cement )"
"Then he's soft again, and smiling, and I am released from him. He taps the waiting case with his foot again, and only when I've picked it up and turned to the door do I hear his - retreating isn't the right word; receding would be more apt - footsteps as he goes back upstairs. I don't think to what - to whom. All I can comprehend is that it is innocence he is interested in, and the age that encompasses it; what does flesh mean to someone who steals entire lives whole?"
Approaches and DeparturesHear toxic-nebulae read it here.
When the roads took to themselves
my breath arrived from Appalachia
to Sonora before North American
westerlies and wanderlust cradle-
carried my exhalations eastward.
The southern Baptist rural sprawl,
contagious to Canadian and Pacific
railways, had approached from crosses
confiscated several centuries earlier.
Fiberglass steeples routinely fed
a broadcast of fiber optimal sermons
depart from me;
the distinction between an arrival
and an approach is who leaves who.
"Fiberglass steeples routinely fed
a broadcast of fiber optimal sermons"
The Patchwork Quilt Maker
She sits by the window for the best light.
Nearby a pile of folded quilts stands high
And waits as for the princess and the pea.
Her mouth, a quiver full of pins, permits
A muttered mmm mmm mmm if I should have
The nerve to ask, 'What's for dinner tonight'?
On a side table is a confusion,
Though she would deny, of remnants, patches,
Scraps of cloth that have absorbed the essence
Of those who wore or laid out on the bed
A petticoat perhaps a bridal gown
From which she'll set out, yet unstitched, a quilt.
In her head, run tumbling blocks,
"On a side table is a confusion,
Though she would deny, of remnants, patches,
Scraps of cloth that have absorbed the essence
Of those who wore or laid out on the bed
A petticoat perhaps a bridal gown
From which she'll set out, yet unstitched, a quilt."
Vishnui. (matsya - fish)
in the beginning, there was silver;
mercury inscribing cuneiform
beneath the bloodwork of your skewed scales,
scrawling preserver
throughout salt-drenched lungs.
and you laced clear planets into your slipstream,
wrapped solar systems in translucence.
ignoring all the shattered galaxies. ignoring
how easily their frail orbits
broke.
ii. (kurma - turtle)
your ribcage screamed a shattered warcry
of not-quite-god and less-than-human;
a shark's-tooth carapace crushed in.
forgotten names clawed out your sternum.
your spine fused into your biting back.
iii. (varaha - boar)
razor-wireless shrieked of true ta
"hooked her weak breath in your palms,
clutched her cold name in your chest.
in sleep she screamed your palms.
convince yourself it was her rest."
ButterflyConfound you, illicit butterfly!
You have dizzily thrust your
breathless, starting, sunset arms
into my cage once more;
but can you not see
your withered winged brethren
round the red bars of this place,
grey and weary and warning
that the stale miasma
has not yet abided?
It is not not yet your time, my butterfly,
for Spring is 'round another corner
I have yet to pave.
I curse not you, but the bars --
the cowardly, crimson bars.
"but can you not see
your withered winged brethren
round the red bars of this place,
grey and weary and warning
that the stale miasma
has not yet abided?"
Amber GlazeJukebox on repeat,
same country buzz
they play every night at this time.
Dim lights hide the stains
on people's souls,
women in revealing tops
fawning over the bar stools
of men who will leave them empty
before the morning.
A glint catches your eye,
a silver lining lodged
in amber liquid;
brother Chuck tilts the glass,
pours you another drink.
You hand it back,
take the Jim Bean from his hand,
and you chug
until the room spins...
but all you find when you peer in
are a thousand regrets
you'll never sort through
and the bottom
of another lonely night.
"A glint catches your eye,
a silver lining lodged
in amber liquid;
brother Chuck tilts the glass,
pours you another drink."
rate of firethe sight
of the black and white
parked in the loading zone
gives me a moment of panic.
The average human
can cover 12 feet per second
and it's at least
300 to your classroom.
"The average human
can cover 12 feet per second
and it's at least
300 to your classroom."
love 0
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joy 1
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wow 0
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mad 0
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sad 0
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fear 0
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neutral 0
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