Monthly Archives: February 2012
They tell me I may now name myself. No longer Nakusa Unwanted I rub its ugly syllables into this raw earth grasp the paper in my hands, embrace my freedom song. Trembling, I choose Pyāra Loved.
Life. Liberty. Freedom. Happiness. Independence. Quiet, peaceful knolls. The right to bear arms, lose limbs, lie on earth scorched by gun -fire and anger and hate. These felled sons fathers, uncles cousins, friends mangled, tangled in the verdant evening grass. … Continue reading
They dance graceful wrists raised breeze setting tempo, tune, time; fluttery fingers washed ballerina pink by sunset. They skulk skeleton shoulders skyward wind plays ska, shivers through; sharp elbows pointed, shrieking through the moon.
The flowers are placed just so. A bit displaced, too, so much white and yellow and green and palest pink in this sea of black. He looks good. They keep saying it. As if he’s still in there, and will … Continue reading
2/26 zip gray winter sky weeps, waiting for indigo to unzip the clouds. 2/27 write a deliberately bad haiku egg falls into the cracks, shell-shocked. that’s all, yolks. 2/28 “generated haiku” (original): lucid stone scampers grotesque lean mountaintops leer orchestras … Continue reading
They call him Crazy Carl Nut Job Loose Screw Loony Cuckoo One Card Shy of a Full Deck but still (after all, what the heck?) he buys his soup precisely 27 cans at a time arranges displays and eats them … Continue reading
The numbers on the signs are all getting smaller burning in our headlights on this harsh and hazy highway. The cornstalks in the fields are all getting taller; hope hovers in their shadows as we brave this broken byway. The … Continue reading
Answer this: Entranced by smoke and (broken) mirrors, senses dulled by altitude sheepish grin and stray wolf’s pelt worn backwards, map lost tossed to the wind, how then shall she cement these dense, frail phrasings over the murmur of her … Continue reading
Fool. I do not want to be written. Take your impotent ink and go home. You cannot press me to page with death grip on quill or ironclad will or black clacked on incessant white space in an effort to … Continue reading