Meatpacking District (Day Twenty: Touch)

The way she picks at the scabs with fingernails like arrowheadsreminds me of the first time she ever held me closewe were laughing like hyenas upon a sad roadkillenveloped in the scent of putrid affinitylike sex and decay and things dying in the womb Prompt: Touch. Sort of. I know, this year I've been a … Continue reading Meatpacking District (Day Twenty: Touch)

The Numbness of Electrical Burns (Day Nineteen: Being in the Present)

My gospel is a rag soaked in kerosenerecited lovingly to my home built from paper and glassit's the most intimate collapse of everything I ever knew to be mine Prompt: Being in the Present. There was a sense component, sights and sounds, but I didn't use that bit. Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 … Continue reading The Numbness of Electrical Burns (Day Nineteen: Being in the Present)

Ultraviolet (Day Eighteen: Processing Your Feelings)

She swings like a pendulum saw marking me hers with lacerationsevery caress reaching deeper than the lastmy cup runneth over and it spills my gutslike a bad dream ending through a burst artery Prompt: Processing Your Feelings Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. I figured that since I was liberally indulging in love … Continue reading Ultraviolet (Day Eighteen: Processing Your Feelings)

Jilted Heart (Day Seventeen: Your Wild Rhythm)

What my hands around your neck feel isn't your pulseit's the starving rats scurryingall over the prison that is your rib cagejust to lap at the poisonendlessly dripping like spoiled honeyfrom the weeping sores adorning your jilted heart Prompt: Your Wild Rhythm Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. I am two days behind, … Continue reading Jilted Heart (Day Seventeen: Your Wild Rhythm)

Filth Effigies (Day Fourteen: The Truth)

Immolated straw dogs in rusted shopping cartsheld up like trophies on broken shouldersmove down the trampled avenuelike filth effigies in a morbid paradesiege of abandoned homeseveryone's out in the streetsit's one last party in the debrisone last scream before the lights go out Prompt: Truth Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. Well, you … Continue reading Filth Effigies (Day Fourteen: The Truth)

White Phosphorous (Day Thirteen)

The scent of gum turpentine flares like a smoke signalrising from the hollow of your neckmarking the wreckage that killed everyonethe crash site turned improvised graveYou whisper through gunpowder colored strandshanging low like a curtain of unlit fuses:rumors of falling stars is white phosphorous coming downburning brightas it burns us out Did not use the … Continue reading White Phosphorous (Day Thirteen)