We Know

Your quizzes
try my nerves
 
The spirit is gone
we can say
 
What I can’t mention is
how my soul was bolted,
fixed by that narrow moment –
moans bursting my lungs –
and then the absence
turned out to be
chronic.
 
All you see is me weary
almost collapsing
with the relentless
stab at perfection,
masking and abstracting
my deepest wound
 
Stranded and moored,
unfettered
we cannot pool
anything together
ever
 
That is the pittance
we know.
 
This was written for Shawna’s Monday Melting at rosemarymint.wordpress.org!  
 
 Also linked to Open Link night at dversepoets at http://dversepoets.com/! 

The End

I would trade all,

my effervescent adolescence,

every fetching moment,

to avoid that elision.

 

Demure are the days,

and lithe the years,

since the ineffable

 

A mere harbinger

of the coming penumbra

could not be afforded

 

The end of serendipity

leading me down a

long lane of lassitude

This was written for Shawna’s Monday Melting Prompt at http://www.rosemarymint.wordpress.org

Rainbow Locks

 

Numb view

cars crawl

tie-dye braid

her only sinew.


Pointless boys

peach and prattle:

smooth myths,

ancient battles.


She prefers texture

tumbleweed thoughts,

and ivy inklings —


but mostly the

rainbow locks

keep her steady.

This was written for Shawna’s Midweek Melting at http://www.rosemarymint.org!  The photo was from her site as well (though it originates from weheartit.com)!  

Later, Woolly Mammoth

Image

Examine my amygdala

I don’t have amnesia, yet

 
Click-clack, I heard the heels

I know you let your volcano go

 

Cherry called

And I’m not your rook

 

Don’t be anxious:

it makes you look so primitive

like an obsolete mastodon,

just as I’m digging–

something a bit more avant-garde.

This was written for Shawna’s Monday Melting Prompt at http://www.rosemarymint.wordpress.org!

Smoking Will Kill

 

Smoking will kill you

Muttering it is useless,
Screaming it vain.

Shaken to reason
by the heart doctor’s blank stare,
the boat entirely missed.

Machines humming
powerful tunes into her,
ones hummed since childhood.

All that grinding gathering speed,
gathering fear, fluent in you.

Rise, spit it out, slam it down,
All is useless, all is vain.

Except an abnormal
one-on-one May day–
overgrown field,
youth and her true hum,
strawberry juice running down your chin,
and love so deep
the grinding will never grasp.

Written for Shawna’s first edition of THURSDAY MELTING here at http://www.rosemarymint.wordpress.org.

Marzipan Misconnection

 

Grandmother’s angora coat,

Unruly mop flat-ironed to a frizz-free sheen,

Red nails the shade of Feisty –

Transmutation into perhaps

a close version of Brett’s ex

Now just make-believe

her brain had been eviscerated

of gneiss formations and the half-life of iridium,

her whole report on Norwegian ice floes.

It was a mawkish idea she knew.

Best friends in fourth grade

held no currency in high school.

But she stayed up till 3 am

figuring out homemade marzipan:
he adored it when he was nine.

There he stood against the lockers

with his gang.

Here she came down the hall,

slow mo, adagio, every second

felt to the core, her entire body thrumming,

marzipan tucked under her elbow.

Unbelievably, he smiled at her

And she smiled back, she thought, and began

to offer the marzipan

until peripherally

she saw the jouncing blue skirt and

the bright yellow pom poms splaying

and heard the shrill “Oh Brett”

of the hitherto ex.

The bitter end of her confectionary endeavors.

Written for Shawna’s Monday’ Melting prompt at rosemarymint.wordpress.com!

Potpourri Path

 

Senescence begins the day you are born —
though youth may eclipse it
with a potpourri path
kaleidoscopic and gleaming
like freshly cut kiwi.
You may seem to blaze every forward —
yet each year is but a slight caracol
toward the savage and rusty road of dependence —
Retaining full control of mind or body becoming
an uphill trek with each passing milestone.
The cure, the most potent balm being
the tickle of skin on skin,
a hand in your hand —
the tingle of love
and a dose of what is true.

This is a response to Shawna’s Melting Monday prompt at http://www.rosemarymint.wordpress.com and is also at Diverse Poets’ Pub at http://www.dversepoets.com!

My Ire

 

the days uncoil continuously

the earth proceeds forward

with a zest unheard of

a year since your death

or is it nine months?

five weeks, maybe.

or was it three days?

It was just last Saturday

you ordered the apple cider

for your Keurig.

I swallow a tepid cup of cider

and think

no match am I

for the days and the earth

not a great fit anymore

no choice but to bend

nicely to their will

be docile

enjoy the remaining days

and think

an august service

black lace

brown casket

the air cold and acidic

my ire

does not stop a thing

This is a response to Shawna’s Melting Monday prompt!