a day of whispering bones

Happy Halloween!

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The Dipping Bread (new vamp flash)

just in time for Halloween
I’m honored to be included in Chicago Literati, with my flash piece, The Dipping Bread
I hope you enjoy reading, as much as I enjoy writing about vampires and their victims 😘

bitter lioness

Shuffling on the dry balls of your padded paws.
Impermanence, your affliction.
Hard exacting breaths from decades of sauntering.
Protesting each movement to fling earth’s weight from your mind.
The weight must land elsewhere.
No more burning up the open plains.
Alive with dullness.
You, a bitter lioness.
Working bones unasked for fractional effort.
Heart wanting recompense from both moon and sun.
Roaring from miles away at injustices served.
Laying waste to shared land.
Sour notes break into others’ dreams.
The bitter lioness will disappear.
Upon the shrinking sands, an old lion slaughters its cubs.
And all other reminders of its imminent death.

Lioness after Lunch/Prisma

 

fait accompli

to break ‘the rules’ in accordance with your understanding of them
love, the loaded chain ascribed to bind your complicated heart
twisted metal must eventually cut blood flow
suffer the sane, suffer the insane
there is not a singular countermove 
weighted shackles are duty bound to drag you down
all the way
sink your entirety below the waters of realism
submersion, suffocation
of pain, of fear – the drowning

come here, move in very close to me
let me help you, sweetheart
as we descend into the bottomless sea
into your panicking soul
I will whisper, above the chink of padlocks

the only secret worth dying for
I will murmur into your ear–
how to blackout the pain, void the fear

oh my darling,
is there breath yet left
for this–

the torture of your compromised heart
must joyously accept its doom

there, there
do not be afraid

‘fait accompli’
alien-vamp-2-reduced-size

HAPPY VALENTINE’S 😘
painted this vampy alienish woman over the last few days–
she only bites if I tell her to

 

I can no longer wait for you

I’m still waiting for you
I think I’ve always been
no
I know I’ve always been
forty years past
scanning the stars glued inside my baseball cap
before each at bat, desperate not to strike out
thirty years ago
face first, hair second, brain third
hoping you’ll notice me
twenty year flashback there I am running
six miles alongside the busiest roads
why don’t you pullover and take me away
fifteen years ago
off those roads striving for inroads
sending, sending, sending
out my door, into yours
hoping something manages the mail slot
ten years recent past
what a tease
you were never really interested
I wasn’t even close was I
today
I can wait no longer wait for you
all my past tactics have failed
there is no one to find me
you were never there

I must turnaround
I must stop dreaming
no fantasy fingers will tie my work to a star
with a glittering red bow

I must float on my own
or
I will fall flat and be trampled upon
by more creative beasts
Taurean Bull
my little monster love book must now be sold and I must sell it.
“…I could burn with the splendor of the brightest fire or else I could choose time…” –Lament from Evita

a truth at ten

a truth at ten

I’m burning inside the confessional. I already know I’m lying. Always do. I hope God forgives me someday. Bread in the toaster has a better chance of not getting burned between heaven and hell. Can’t tell my truth to the wrinkled priest who is so old I hear his eyelids scratching against his pupils. He’ll never understand what I don’t. I’m hoping God gets me. God reminds me of Santa, except he’s much more fit and his eyes don’t twinkle. The priests’ eyes don’t shine either. There is nothing endearing about their silk garments or the weird mellifluous odors permeating my church. Why does it smell hot like hell. How can I tell the truth when I’m locked in a dark smelly box-like a demon trap. In blackness, where the best of me is at my worst. All the horrid things that tell me I’m going to hell. Don’t like myself in the daytime. Hate myself at night.

Jesus is stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. I don’t know what to do so I giggle. A nun slaps the back of my head. Can’t stick my finger in my mouth while wearing a Communion dress that makes me feel like a roll of toilet paper. I don’t feel very pretty in this white flouncy dress. I pictured feeling like a princess. I don’t look at all like what I imagined. I’m fat. I’m ugly. I look like squeezable Charmin. I wonder if Jesus uses toilet paper. Mary is so pretty and slender and doesn’t kiss anyone. No one slapped her on the back of the head. And now Jesus is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’m parched. I fainted last week while my class stood outside in the blazing sun reciting the rosary. I remember my sweaty thick fingers trying to count the beads.

I won’t tell the priest anything. He has no right to know what’s in my head. I don’t care if I’m supposed to tell him the truth. Closing my eyes, I practice being in the dark on my knees pretending I’m going to divulge my darkest thoughts. The old smelly priest will tell me to say thirty Hail Marys so my sins will be forgiven. I know I won’t do this either. I wonder if devils can turn their horns into wings. I’m a slice of Wonder bread in the toaster burning on both sides. There is no holy peanut butter to hide my black thoughts. I prefer Santa Clause over God. I want to kiss boys even though they don’t like me. I look like toilet paper.

Angel Cone

Angel Cone

this writing is a combination of my childhood years – Communion is received in second grade – if memory serves I’d have been 7 at the time – the confessional reoccurred throughout my Catholic school years

’tis wrestling season, my eyes close for 2 months


I listened last night
cresting waves
you
a ship
the gymnasium floor
covered in ocean blue and harvesting gold
home advantage
there you were
every time I closed my eyes
imagining the sea
rather than watching you twist and be twisted

my heart opened them
I must be like you
brave
put myself out there
on the mat
face my fear, my folly, my foe, my friend
when did you become so you

my son

the little boy
I must one day
release into a hard world
with no soft wrestling mat beneath
should you fall
maxmy max is on the right, gold-stripe
so very difficult watching these wrestling matches
hoping none of these kids get hurt
but they do
must keep my eyes open

bein’

is that all there is
have you given everythin’ you got
if this is it
all there is
and there ain’t anymore
why you not pushin’
mind
body
spirit
all the way
what ya doin’
I’ve been waitin’ here
for you
always
to stop bein’ you
and start
bein’

aren’t I worth an effort
you certainly are
glimmers be there
though you hide ’em as best ya can
I know you
I know you
I wish you was inside me now
man, the things we would do
could do
together
don’t ya know
I’d never hurt you
never
I get you
need you so bad
to understand
c’mon

better getta move on
time to steel those wobblin’ guts
have I given’ it my all
man up, AM (insert your initials here)
what the hell
ya waitin’ for
hurry up
before you
and yer words
fade away
to nuttin’
washed-out-selfie
don’t usually post my face but I liked fading the image away with the words-thank you

waiting to become fearless

I am not a fearless artist
I am not a fearless writer
I am not a fearless poet
I am not a fearless mother

I am a fearless friend
until you break my heart

and then

I must wait

to become fearless again
pukwidgiethis little guy was first created in purples back in 2007, since then we’ve become great pals and this past year we went clothes shopping;)

I was thinking this morning about how often I doubt my work and how important it is to be friends with yourself
so you can keep creating forward…thank you