(Old)

A tattoo artist of the mind
To swab your brain with alcohol
And prick images of beauty
Onto a yielding canvas of purity
Forever remembered.

Evening Walk Through a Shameless Garden

9pm
10,000 feet high
on a bridge
standing, staring
down
all is still.
Even the first aren't swimming
No birds are singing their gallant songs
and the old man on
the bench stops
pointing his thing at little girls
let me be free
let me go
a hand holding back my dare
a hand pulls me down
a hand inside of me
here I stand
here I fly
how elegant it might be
to splash down
head first
legs last
feeding the lake
the yellow pus
from under my brain cast
and have the animals
suck and coo
until they have had enough
but they wouldn't even know
that they were just invited to transpose
and evil
something
here I stand
here I drown
you won't be back for
three days
the man on the bench scratches his crotch
a fish slaps the water
with it's tail
a bird squawks
as it chokes on a worm and I stand
on a bridge
10,000 feet high
9pm

(Old)

Skeletal wind-spent trees
house your memories
and crystalline pools
don't reflect your beauty-
just shows shallowness
for what it's worth.

(Old)

Molten limestone sea
of iridescence
challenges the moon
while the flight of broken waves
somehow manage
to calm and soothe
on a driftwood throne
pondering a kingdom of
crawling compelling abandon,
Dragging nostalgia
to the shores
of a still repeating mind.
Remembrances, singing to thee.
Your unabashed assail leaves
my pretentious mold broken,
my words and confidence stolen

(Old)

Blessed with innocence
A house made of cards
Unknowing its predestined crash

(Old)

Simple pleasures combat
Complex pains
Trying to extinguish the flames
Blazing in my mind;
A fireball of regrets.
And it’s not all yet-
I’ve still got the gun to load and eat.

Syntax

I want to write you the right way, vowels for feet and parenthesis for ankles. I will scribble all the way up your legs, until I reach your thighs. This is where the writing slows and I devour you. Words start and stutter against my tongue and spill into your lap, covering skin with the sweetest expressions. My mouth holds more definitions than the dictionary. Sloppy spelling and elongated verbs, I scatter consonants like kisses. I skip the exclamation point and lavish your chest with adjectives. Apostrophe nipples enclosing my mutterings, patiently praising your soft parchment. Faint trembling and my words wobble, becoming illegible before I reach your mouth. Our lips meet; this is where the tale unfolds grabbing words, licking into paragraphs. Between tongue and teeth the greatest stories are told.

Guest Writer: Daron Woodson

I read a story once.

The main character is the narrator. He works in an office, like me. Some villain has slain his wife for a reason I don't remember.

It is a revenge story, and he is talking about his dead wife. Beaming about her. The author is trying to sell me an idea. The idea that this man loved his wife. That he really did.

The man says this and that. He says:

"She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty."

I retroactively buy everything he's said about her, and everything he ever will. I believe he loves her. With that scrap of honesty, the author's sale is a success.

Who would not forgive a man for remembering his dead love more gloriously than that? Who would hold a superficial embellishment against a grieving husband? Surely he is entitled to an exaggeration of memory.

But none for this man!

"She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty."

And so we the readers know that this man - this character - speaks the truth. The man saw his wife for what she was, and so, when he speaks of his love, we believe him. He says she was kind, and we know that she was. He says that she was silly, and brave, and usually patient, but not always.

And we know that she was.

What speechcraft!

My love, I wish that you were not beautiful. I wish you were not so lovely. To say so is flattery, surely. It's pretty words and brownie points and sweet nothings. It must be. To your mind, it must be.

I wish I could say:

"She isn't beautiful, but she is pretty."

That I could sell you my idea, like that forgotten master of his craft sold me his.

My love, you are beautiful. I wish I could say less.

My love, you are beautiful.

Parting

his forehead touches hers, he sighs
her chin starts to tremble before the tears come
hands squeezed gently by love’s tender touch
or is that parting’s tragic tease
she can’t let go- too much of a pull
she feels like she belongs to him
but the powers that be won’t let it be won
he brushes away her hair, kisses her cheek
as she tries with all her might to stay strong
she burns this image into her mind
as she wishes desperately for time to stop
her heart tears, shatters into a sea of pieces
as she breaks the final embrace
never will she forget his expression
as she walked away with his beating heart
and left him with hers- torn-ripped
still bleeding
still beating

Body That Is Not Mine

Shower is hot and wet
And sooths my aching body
While stinging the open parts
The bleeding parts
The broken parts .
The heat of the water
Begs me to sleep,
Lulling me into false safety.
Do not fret
The walls tell me
The tile is here to catch
Bang.
My head aches close to true death.
All I want to do is shut my eyes
And feel the pitter patter of
The droplets against
This skin
That does not feel
Like mine.
Water consumes and moves
And sways me back and forth
Close to slipping…
JOLT.
Awake again
In a body
That is not mine.

Toy

I was a toy on a string
In your box
and you brought me out to play
every couple days.

I was a girl on a string
on your shelf
and you took me down
to wipe me off every time
dust began to cover me.

I was a toy girl and I
had chocolate locks of hair
and you would dress me
up in your favorites
and showcase me to
your friends and family.

I was a girl toy and I
was perfectly un-pretty
but you didn’t see
who I really was
because you’re too busy
making sure I was working

properly

in the way you had
programmed my (in)sanity.

What a Doll

Rags. My entire body is made of them. You stuffed me with your dirty cotton. The fibers you’ve dabbed on the gaping wound on your chest. Soggy, crimson- almost dripping. You didn’t bother to scrape off the specks of artery, the bits of heart stuck on the strands. Now look at what you’ve done. Don’t you notice the gore?… Ah, that’s right. Your eyes are bloodshot. Your bitterness has cleaned off all of your revulsion. You can’t feel anything now. Your entire reality is focused on a singular intent.
What was it that you told yourself? That this was some sort of remedy? A homemade heartbreak doll with which to store your hardcore suffering; an epic human-shaped gris-gris of your own creation? What did you hope to accomplish with your witchery?
Forgive me. Am I laughing? I can’t help it. This is the funniest thing yet. You convinced yourself that I could make you forget your afflictions. For what? So you can move on with your maudlin existence? Pathetic.
I was a good sport, though. So by all means, you did it. As much as you pleased. As much as you needed it. You stuffed me up real good and tight. You made my face swell and my insides rip. A ragdoll for you to abuse. You filled me up with your scarlet cream until I overflowed. Filled me up with your violent impetus. But do me a favor, will you? Next time, fill me up in my throat first. I don’t want you to hear my maniacal laugh. This is one for the books, asshole. This is the most contemptible chapter yet. You got this all down to its aesthetics. Ignore me and continue. I’ll be laughing for days.
Bottom line is, you’ll never be safe. You’ll never get away from what I represent. You think your filth will disappear if you poured your sludge into an effigy and discarded it? You are small and scared.
Throw me in with the skeletons in your closet and I will still crawl out, clenching at the ground with my nails, pulling myself into the light of day. Bury me under six feet square of dirt and I will dig through it. Burn me up and I will reinvigorate.
Why do you think I’m verbal, physical, sensory? Why do you think I can spit all these vile truths remorselessly? You think you’ve killed a part of you?
No. You gave me life.
Like a recurring nightmare my torture will follow you to wakefulness. I’ll probably survive you, too. My essence will transcend the blanket in the morgue. My echo will linger above your headstone, like a black bird cawing your infirmities. The world will hear my requiem, my dreadful bliss, my evil merriment even after you’ve faded away.
You can’t kill me. I’m the specter that haunts your bedroom. I’m the spider that lurks and creeps around in your head. Don’t try to execute me. Your efforts to blot me out are flimsy. Why don’t you embrace me, instead? Who knows, I may just grant you reprieve- but I have friends who’d kill you in an instant if they only had the chance.

Sleep Calls

I must steal away
for sleep calls.
Innocence drained
by the charlatans
of this world
must now be replaced
by bright dreams
so that then
I may be
renewed, reborn.
I can smile and face
the darkness
of yet another day.

Slowly, Love

Slowly, love
build me up
into a castle
worthy of love.

Slowly, love
give me new
windows so
that I may see
the world more
clearly, and so
that I can feel
the gentle breeze.

Slowly, love
work me with
your gentle hands,
smooth me over
so there are no more
cracks in my surface,
and give me a moat
to protect myself
in the future.

Slowly, love
just walk away and
leave the masterpiece
you made, and as the
tide comes in, as the
light of dawn rears
it’s head, let me be
swept away.

Mistakes

Altered my mind tonight
and went flying without you.
I know I promised,
never without your guidance,
but I wanted the risk
and I wanted to soar
the skies of my mind.
I’d say sorry but you’d know,
I don’t mean it at all.
So I’ll just keep on,
flying high,
and when you get home,
you can bring me down,
because that’s what,
you’re best at.

Puzzle

I am the puzzle you spend your sweet time on. You go back and forth, trying to figure out the very edges of me to first lay down the foundation. Those are the easiest of course, so why not get them out of the way? See what my favorite foods are, the hobbies I do in my spare time, the subjects I love to study… Then you’ll start trying to delve your way deeper into the enigma that is me. You’ll jam a few pieces, in places they do not belong, but it’s a process of elimination, right? You’ll shower me with your attention and I will never want for another pair of eyes. Soon, after many trials and tribulations, after many breaks and mistakes, after parting and rekindling, you will figure me out… It will be a night of joy and love and elation. We will celebrate and you will spend many moments only staring at me and admiring the image that you worked so hard to craft. Then, as you have finished appreciating the beauty of me, you will break me into a million pieces and move on, to a new puzzle, to a new challenge.

So Fucking Easy

Would you like to
Peel her top off
With a vigorous
Tug of prose?
Her pants are only waiting
For a line of poetry
To slide her zipper
Down and expose
A dirty haiku or
Limerick will be
More than enough
To remove the lace
And frilly stuff
From her hips and
Shoulders alike
You know that she
She wants to be
Bare beneath
The love of your hand
Crafted words that she
Has come to crave
So much

Tonight when the stars are high
Let’s commit a lusty collaboration
Under the night sky’s silky darkness.
The moon can be our witness
As we twist and writhe and kiss
Finding new ways to drown
In each other.
We’ll lie in the grass
Wet with dew
And lay out our souls
As our bodies become seeds
Being planted.

Guest Writer: Roxanne Moaveni

The Scorpion, The Spider, and The Snake

Stomachs glistening, sweet sweat dripping
clothes swirling fluidly around solid pillars moving
to the beat of insanity and the gasps of reality
encircle the circlers; the prey become predators.
And so the dancers dance their dance
and drag the audience in to trance
whether screaming or in ecstasy
they beg for more and oh, they plea!
The Scorpion, the Spider, and the Snake
(each have their own fair share to take
of adoring admirers..
glassy eyed followers.)
Begin their real performance.

Draining and disfiguration,
Kiss the steel, love your temptation,
Death has booked your reservation,
My freedom turns to dust.

Sleep

Warm blankets and cool pillows comfort my bare skin as I snuggle deep into the safest place I know. The ache behind my eyelids eases as I adjust to the darkness and try to close my eyes, finally. Tired tears - those that sneak out and stream away slowly after a long yawn. Feeling my own breathing decelerate and making a mental note of it between things I have to do tomorrow and things I want to tell you. Knowing somewhere in the bottom of my skull that this isn’t easy, but pushing that connected knot in my gut further down. Shrinking into the smallest form possible around my core. The smell of clean sheets. The ticking of my internal clock. The realization of being alone. The actualization of loneliness. Things much greater than myself and love much lesser than my own. The tiredness, sheer exhaustion hitting me in waves. This is how I fall asleep these days. I think myself right into a deep slumber in which I dream, sometimes about you. I am never without you, even when I am completely alone. And I know I can always call.

The tea leaves spell my future as they stir uneasily in the depths of my mug as I sip gingerly. I don’t mind the temperature. It reminds me of the easy, languid heat of a boy-man’s mouth.
I have not forgotten the leftover desire our bodies left in the rumpled up sheets that we’d slept in together. It lingers, even though he’s been gone a while. He left to go back to his corner of the country with my name twirling and bouncing off the walls in his mind, leaving chaotic cracks and destructive dents in what he thought he had already figured out. Although my name remains in his thoughts, it dare not be on his lips.
This is the alternative life where I say yes. Where I have to not let my voice grow cold on the telephone that connects us like an umbilical cord, even when it hurts to love. Here, my flesh still remains over fat over ribs that hold my lungs. As I saw him depart in the dusk of that chilly Monday evening, those lungs were stepped on, ribs cracking as I wept for love.

Bright While Light

Bright white light bulb
Bathing my bedroom
In artificial sunshine
Trying to purge the space of all its impurities.
I burn in this crucible
I bathe in the purging of my own poisons.
Razors push themselves out of my pores
As I rest on my white fluffy coverlet
Letting the white light beam down
Illuminating each and every
Imperfection.

The death of lust
Triggers fear
All will be invisible
In the earth
Someday
With no trace of sadness
Except for open-eyed grievers
At how many harbors
Can one lose their way?
Unlearn this path
Don't you dare
Try to remember
What it once felt like
To kiss me

Whenever I would look at him, I’d keep on trying to imagine him as words in my head. Smart. Sexy. Witty. Charming. I’d try to somehow form a memory of him in the way that comes to me most naturally—words.
But as time passed, only pictures remained in my mind.
The images that cycled through my head were his eyes—the three most distinct temperaments in his eyes.
The way he used to look at me when he was happy—eyes that seemed to be full of wonder at his being there with me, clothed only in timid sunlight. At those times, I felt home. I felt that was all I needed—his presence, and our mutual astonishment at being.
Then his eyes when he was angry—clutching the steering wheel of his parked truck with white knuckles, yelling. I didn’t even understand him at that point—all I understood were the eyes. His anger, and his lack of respect and loss of love.
And then the way he gazed at me when he was sorry— at night, helplessly, as he whispered to be forgiven in the dark. Apologies in them. I looked at them until I couldn’t take it anymore—until I turned my back to him and cried yet again.
Three pairs of eyes. I felt that if I continued what I had with him, we would cycle through those sets again and again. But out of three, two of them would have me crying.
I knew then I would have to let him go.

I Am Not Yours

As my eyes open to the morning light, my body feels exhausted and my mind tells me to roll over and go back to sleep. But you see, it’s not the normal teenage laziness that we all experience in the morning. It’s something that makes my heart drop and my body feel so tired that I can’t find any reason to crawl out of bed. It’s the thought of having to walk by people, pass by the spots where we were together, choking back tears. It’s moments that I’m quiet for too long, where people ask if something is on my mind. My self-worth has been on a path of twist and turns, all downward, and frankly, I can’t do it anymore. It’s hard to see your face every time I close my eyes and not feel like total shit because I want something I can’t have. I don’t want to think about the cute little texts that you send me throughout the day and how you sleep with your phone by your bed in case I need you and call me your love. But the main thing that I don’t want to remember is that I am not yours and you are not mine.

That Summer

And so that summer, up on rooftops, with cold but sometimes warm rum, the sunshine, just us, as friends…or whatever. We spent every last second we could up there, taking in the city, taking in ourselves. Not a care in the world. There were no paychecks, no homework assignments, no arguments. We could barely hear the horns honking in the busy Seattle streets below. I never waited for your calls, I never asked where you’d been, because all mattered was what we did, not who we were.
Somehow, I always find my way back to rooftops, to see where I am, to see where I want to go, even if there’s no implied direction, I have to be able to see. The way I wanted to see you, the way I saw you that summer.
Perfect.

A Body Martyred

Cowering beads
Of sweat retreat
To the origin of fear
As pin pricks of terror
Reverse the melancholic phase
Of the Phoenix Stigmata
Crying tears of onyx
Pools of oil erupt
And bleed out
Through the holes
Of a body
Martyred

Come to You

Open eyes
Silent lips
Full of quiet violence
Of screams and ashes
Burnt by your mistakes
I opened the door too late
Who knows how much I care
Go ahead
Fall down
Leave me behind
I'll be fine
But not so quiet anymore
There's nothing left
For me here
So I will come to you

Guest Writer: Madison Wheatley Campbell

Everything we pass summers.
The sky is an expanse of muted gray,
Save for one patch of pink lemonade light.
The lightning dares the earth come alive,
But even the hard-worked fields sigh
Soaking in sweet May showers.
Raindrops sluggishly streak across my windowpane
As we travelers cruise into a tiny town,
Probably the fastest things around for miles.

She Wrote

She wrote all her troubles
On the wings of a paper airplane.
The heartbreak, the injury, the pain.
She climbed to the roof top
Of her apartment complex
And let the airplane go.
She watched as it fell
Straight down
Into a puddle
Of sludge and spilled motor oil
And then, with tears
Slipping off her face
From the edge of the rooftop
She let herself go.

I have mountains where I want valleys, and valleys where I want mountains.
I want smooth running rivers, not wild raging rapids.
Here sits an ugly gorge, longing for
A graceful beauty of a landscape.

Haiku

In Disney movies
Nobody bleeds when they’re hurt
Except in Mulan

So long have I been isolated and afraid to feel all the love and security in all the places that weren't safe to show you. Now, I am on top of the Swiss Alps and the sensation is incredible. You've swept me away to a sacred place where waves roll and rise and never fall. Secrets we share run deep to the center of the earth and boil until there is only us.

Haiku

Infinitely stretched
Between heartbeats we are left
Suspended always

Secrets Do Make Friends

As pages of pain
Pass between us
I see boulders weighing
Heavily on your shoulders
Arms shaking in agony
About to rupture
For fear of reaching out
To rescue your dignity
From layers of borrowed shame

Touch

Friends
With magic of more
Undefined
Transfixed
Intermittent warm charge
Taps like a Morse code message
Makes contact
Skimming surface
Like a ladybug landing
On a silent lake
Surge of heat
Pools and throbs
Runs deep
To the center
Metamorphosis

Dreams

dreams
broken and scattered
seeds of an unwanted plant
landing in cracks of sidewalks
trampled through winter
waiting until spring
to shoot up
into what wouldn’t have been
if you'd kept them

Dregs

Glass half empty.
And half full of all the guck
That sunk to the bottom of the glass
After I had finished the
First delicious half.
Now I am left to lick it clean.
Every last drop of the nasty bits
I was avoiding
Drifted to the bottom of my cup
Without a care, thinking it was over.

So Charmingly Heathen

So charmingly heathen
A kiss of deception
Lingers on your eyes
I think you do not see me
But you do and you know
And you are happy with me
And you love me
You are a fountain of youth
Oh, the difference
One year makes

Guest Writer: J.M.Leighton

A lark and a loon
flew up to the moon
to ask to borrow his light

The moon said no
but bent down low
to kiss them each a good-night!

She melted into him on the calm black water
With her lovely outstretched arms
Pierced with light
Voice reaching out
To the heart of his ears
Mad with love of mad seas
Murmuring her ballad of a green and bronze dream
On the water
Melting away
While pulling faces
Out of the evening shadows
Faces to dream with
For a thousand years
Bathing the bare being of his goddess
She melted into him on the calm black water
Under the light that wept on her shoulders
Her pale vertebrae
Unfathomable space
I no longer felt myself
When the black and blue awakenings
Stopped
I hung there
The evening shadows pulling faces
Out of the waves
Dusted with fine gold
The sea has broken to russet
And has murmured its ballad
To the delighted earth
She melted into him on the calm black water
Under the light of the time she rouses
He trembles at the tone of her demands
As I was floating down
Distances from that time
Of being devoured by the green azures and yellow and blue awakenings
As delirious as the skies are
I hung there
As I melted

A little wild ray of light that runs blue on white Ophelia floating
In hideous love-making does she sink
The ruffled water-lillies
As she stares vacantly into
A hell-red sky

A little pink railway carriage full of dreams
Snuggled into her cloak of ignorance
Along with the flowers that you picked

Curves of her back and great conquering eyes
Stop life short
Sending echoes through this horror space

The black gallows moan
As do all these words
His little black puppets play in the blue silence
And drink the blood of the green trees and organ-pipes

I cared for nothing at all

I have seen maelstroms eternal
Lichens of sunlight
Realized in antique dramas
Performed under archipelagoes of stars
Devoured by vermin

We are hot within the spirits
You leave your divine impressions
In the faces of the flowers
That insanity withers and twists
Into a sickly yellow dream
We find ourselves in
Our evening has died
Totally sensuous beneath the mendacity
You dig our graves over and over again
Intense
Greying and silent
Fading slowly
An empty address book
In whose eyes
The face in your mirror
leaves it home
to find road-signs

Splintering Gems of Freedom

I am green before the rain
He holds electric visions just below the sky
I reach
But the bastard was too good
Strangely bright behind the hot wall
Of your rage
You destroy those sickly visions in the shadows
Before your mother finds out.
Be wary.
Poisonous above the sea,
I create raw splintering gems of freedom
From my very own flesh
That will come
Clouded and hungry
Over the horizon
An unreliable map
Out of whose dream
My darling
Made his way
Not knowing why

Cuddle for carnal warmth
Entwine your legs in mine
Your roots weaving
In and out
Of my soft earth
Growing together
Of the fleeting fantasy of a misfit girl
In a cookie cutter limelight
Where everyone sees the same works
But hears nothing truthful
Over the clamor of the creation
Of the shaped forced reality
A sickening falsehood
A jaded perception
Makes an impression
On her skin
Hardened from blows

You see through sparkling slut dust
Artificial radiance
Resting on their peachy skin
Moist from action
Even still
Your will bends with my smile
As I beckon you with my eyes
Warm you with my cheeks
Love you with my lips
As I stand there
Open-eyed
Trying to recall
How it all began

Freeze Dried Use of a Half Eaten Yesterday

Freeze dried use of a half eaten yesterday
Loiters between my thighs
As I dream back to a
Dandelion nowhere.

Silent Screams

And they crawl through my mind
and they burrow and they speak softly
with those evil words,
poisoning me with my own blood,
I can't tell them,
those evil words are spinning and spinning
and I can't remember where I come from,
but I remember where I've been,
no regrets,
but drowning inside
and waiting for another day to let the screaming end.
Take me to the stage
and let me sing
and let the wind blow through me
and let the tears dry on my skin.
let them dissolve into joy.
and I dance
through the dirt while I talk to strangers,
but I'm their strangers,
strange girl with panic in her eyes
and a swing in her step about to
fall, to fall with no one there to catch
and I try and tell them but
those evil words come and convince me yet again,
so I cry and I fight them, those demons
living in my homes, houses,
for there are no hearts there,
those demons living in my houses that
laugh at this girl's pain,
they think that they know fighting is what I live for,
this warrior.
And that my joy is in their tears, their pain, this bitch.
And I scream
but no sound comes and I cry
but they do not see the little poison
diamond streams,
I'm locked alone,
mute and dry and then the blood comes
and they listen,
and they can hear me.
I smash the insanity crawling in my mind.
I let the screams run
and run and run until
They've told all that I
Was thinking of sharing.

Cone of Desire

Off-white cloud swirled above the cone like a flame
Operating like an albatross in the situation as it fell to dull motives
Raw animalistic impulses of the id
As it circled the tip round and round
Trying to tame the desire
That the cone summoned from deep within its belly
The amorous eyes of the cloud rolled back just at the sight of its beloved cone
While chains from the man-traps muttered noisily
Never lead a captain
But no one ever listened
It listened not to its own trifles
How easily did the dream come apart.

Bass Line

Jazz feels lonely.
Ongoing pulse of the upright bass
Tugs at heartstrings,
Plucking away,
Extracting all the remaining pieces
Of ambiguous emotion
That might have had a chance
To be coaxed
Into a moment
Of momentary happiness.
I am too far gone.
All that’s left now is
A bass line
Throbbing and moaning
Through the body,
Keeping me breathing.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow
I will have a pulse.
A bass line
Of my own.