on this night I had a dream.
conjurations by the fairies’ midwife it would seem,
bringing me sweet visions
and courted by heart-strung decisions,
swimming in soft swan feathers
while chasing him bound by their divine tethers.
in the morning when I wake,
the fog of courtship clears that memory made by mistake.
then I shall cut the cord and cringe,
taking her sickly medicine from a sharp syringe.
i painfully pull out his gilded arrow
and shake the nightmare out of my bone and marrow,
purging misty pansy dew
and wipe my eyes to be cleansed of you.
i have tossed and churned in heat,
covered in salt and musk of a thin stained bedsheet.
somewhere, you rest inside different arms,
so I’ll turn over and wish for another’s charms.…
...continue reading
Announce the Morning. Yes
by going about Your day. Yes
raise Your well-rested Flesh,
dress It & take It to Café Colao.
Note the warmth in warmth.
Note the Sun & Clouds.
Note the Bus Driver & His
solemn, stoic face. Note
the patience it takes to wait
for the walk sign to turn white.
Note the Woman as You enter,
whose car has gone missing…
...continue reading
Click: the door is locked
His mind unlocked
Watch him through the spyhole
Scratching at his skin
Biting his lips till they bleed
The only way he can feel
The only way to stay real
In the white room.
He knows he’s being watched
But he needs that prying eye
To stop himself imploding
To cling to outside things
No need for any mirrors
In this gaping space of ice
The shining happens inside him
In the white room.…
...continue reading
I am an hourglass
constantly turned
before time is through
– Christiana Doucette
Author’s Note: “Life’s Line” was written during one of those life moments where everything turns on its head. The expected does not happen. Instead, life suddenly reorients around a new, uncomfortable normal. The time one thought one had, runs through the fingers the wrong direction, and there is somehow less, or more. Always something in place of what one thought one would have.…
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I.
They call me a monster,
ignoring the true Frankenstein,
who crafted me
from stitched sinews and mismatched
skin and lopsided limbs—
an amalgamation of forgotten scraps—
he who activated my heart with a
defibrillator,
then abandoned me,
fearful
of his own creation.
II.
They call me a monster,
screaming when I approach
or murmuring when I leave.
Flinging darted glances
as I stand in a grocery store line,
holding a birthday cake with one candle.
Don’t they know
this skin was not chosen?…
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Again the scent
Of wet fur and burnt grass
Returns to this humble abode
The wolfman is crashed on my couch,
curled ball that twitches and growls
In slumber, a comfortable comforting
Old friend, though strange even to I
Who rests by the window
Empty wine glass in hand,
Taking in the music of the night
An hour will pass
And he’ll leap to his feet
Alive! We’re Alive!
We’re not old news
Time to hit the town
And spread some fear!
Time to crash the club
To Monster Mash
Or at least
Hit up McDonalds…
...continue reading
I am the bad seed who chose where to sprout,
alongside these meadows. I moved again
despite your need for me. When I came out
West without one look toward where I had been
it was because the things that choked me—worse
than thistles or stones, all the ordnance thrown,
your savage son waging unholy wars
in the memory of Cain. But here I own
my square, honest piece of the well-worn dream
one half I’ll mow and leave the rest to woods
enough room to take root by friends who seem
quite happy I am close. Who thought I could
grow strong beside these windswept stalks of grain?
Where bravery yields a remedy for pain.
– D.E. Kern…
...continue reading