Our love dead ends here
where electricity courses
through cords like the
love once pulsed through
our bodies. We were un-
plugged machines for each other
revved up on high octane.
These days you prefer your
ether siphoned through a net
spun of wires and digital handiwork.
I refuse to stay plugged in.
Lightning is too heavy to carry
in my ungrounded soul.

My First Bedroom

I remember the walls of that bedroom-
faces emerging from dark wood grain
whorls and lines, and the way
I would stare at that wall against
my twin bed with that huge blue
comforter of clouds and manifest
the creatures.
I remember tracing my fingers
over the hair and noses feeling
the black grooves.
I remember my fingers finding
the cold metal frame of the
window which was especially soothing
on a hot summer night.
I remember staring out the window
into the spotlight darkness for
a few moments until I scared myself
with thinking wolves could jump through

Haiku # 7

My chakras burnt out
today while having a jog.
My busted headlight.


She is part of this swamp, folded in, pressed down, movement beneath the black mud.
Time lives differently here choking on the black hole water all day
and all night. She is always there on the other side of the portal
waiting to smell your heart through your legs as you forget what time it is
because the sun abandons this place earlier than what time your watch
says. She is the time traveler under the water watching your breathing.
She has caught faster ones than you, and choked their bones out at cypress feet.

My Furry Laser Beam Killer

sardine vault
vent cover
carrot hater
hair tie magician
mantel ballerina
broom slayer
string tamer
tuna demon
drowsy pirate

Mother’s Tears are Part Lemon

She often lost her vital fluids
in lachrymal seas down her
face with drops pendent from the
tip of her nose, dropping onto
the sheets.
She would find her way out of her
cataplexy finally, wander into
the kitchen and find her sequestered
glass on the muculent countertop.
She would make a subdulcid lemon
drink to drown her stomach
and bear the progeniture of her cyclic
sadness once again.
And she would forget about the lemon estrepement
piling up in the kitchen, against
windows and walls.

Mother Earth’s Addictions by Proxy

Her body lies there mottled and bruised by
bottles and trash heaped over her
mounds that once offered sustenance.
Our forgotten mother- we have sold
her out for our quick addictions
to cheap blood spilling out
everywhere into the cracks.
She is hooded and glowing
sickly under the eyes
as her veins are exposed and open
to the forced injections of the junk
we are holding her hostage to.

But Mother is ferocious
waking up from these induced comas
from time to time;
blood backflowing out, boiling
while she rages and tries to shake
off the sickness and our addictions.
Fighting the shakes is hard, and
sometimes we need to let her shake
it all out.

Inspired by prompt over here: http://magalyguerrero.com/on-her-day-gaia-wails-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-10/ to: “Write a poem from the point of view of Gaia; focus on pollution, natural resource depletion, climate change, loss of bio-diversity, deforestation”

Our Love is

Stale french bread
with moldy crust feeding
the roaches in the cupboards.
A treasure chest buried
underneath tons of mud
with fool’s gold inside.
A whale beached on a
highway, guts everywhere
with traffic stranded for hours.

It didn’t used to be that way.

It used to be a fire
raging through a night
barely contained.
An aloe plant surviving
the harshest soil and
growing despite being cut.
A favorite song that you
play on repeat every day
smiling for what seems like forever.

The Lovers in Galway Bay

Lona strokes Nini
shoulder down to tail; rhythmic
paths retelling her love
for her Nini. Strokes that
found scales, ligneous, and
weak- falling, floating away
with the currents. She pretends
not to notice, hums in Nini’s
ear, patiently works out the seaweed
woven through her now lank barbed locks.
A certain kind of sea sickness
taking her Nini slowly away from her.
Lona could feel the loneliness
seeping into her; unfiltered, already,
nibbling chunks of heart like a piranha.
She whispered to Nini they would have
many more moons together. This she vowed.
Come twilight, and Lona is feigning the flailing.
The man on the beach
sees the girl with the beautiful hair drowning.
Now he’s the one drowning in her hair.
She is lucky with her catch today.
He has big beautiful bones.
Nini weakly sucks the morrow out of his walking bone; she
can now swim a little while longer.

This is inspired by the prompt here: http://magalyguerrero.com/legendary-beings-in-love-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-9/ which is Legendary beings in love.

How to Avoid Elevator Conversation

Don’t look at any faces; the mirrored
walls give perfect opportunity to
fix your hair 80’s style in distorted mode as
you can then mumble to yourself fumbling
around in your purse or pockets, put
hand to ear pretending to make a phone
call to your mother and you fake ask
her if she managed to heat up her
macaroni and cheese without blowing up
her microwave this time, and you sound real
concerned. Peripheral vision tells you that the
person/thing in the elevator with you
(you don’t know who is in the elevator with
you because you haven’t looked at them yet)
is nodding a head shaped thing, and now
you’re fumbling with your jeans and unzip
them and zip them. Nobody is going
to talk to you at this point.
Just don’t get stuck in an elevator; people
will talk to anybody then.


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