Saturday, May 17, 2014

DYING, DEATH, SPIRITS

the highway was dark
but you can tell
from the rippling reflections
the movement of the sea.
the lamp lights
burned like sunflowers
or little houses
and they blur as you pass by
each of them in the infinitely
long bridge. at first,
the moon was a crescent
and then it grew a quarter.
we are inching towards
regions of untouched skin,
the hours crawling
over the darker parts
of the city. we were stealing
whatever we could:
misplaced hands, legs
affections, dimples the size
of a penny, wrists,
the innocence and naivety.
tonight the moon looks like
a fish bowl, dark and blue,
pebbles reflecting
green and red.
i remember the fishes
at the center table at home.
first, the grey fish.
silent. then a pair of oranges ones.
and then another, the palest.
they swim quicker.
dying, death, spirits.
it means nothing to them.
not when
the first of them floats
and
not when
another opens its gills
too wide and jerks.
the radio car emits static
and i hear my mother's voice
in my head. the night
bows its head and apologizes
for what it didn't mean.
the city thrives and the girls
remain.

Friday, May 9, 2014

A LETTER OF A PISCES

reading will not be good for you.
you are fickle and uncertain. you are symbolized
by an identity that is broken.
selves within selves folded into each other
like batter and eggs or blankets and skin,
leaf upon leaf. you have to be careful when it pours.
rain will not be good for you. like a trance,
you will pray, "more rain please. more."
you will repent. you will acknowledge
the heaviness of the air and your own hands
will weigh you down. a contamination of green.
limp. you will have to tell people,
"i'm a Pisces." because people are not sensitive,
people will not take the chance to know.
that means you are gullible. that means
if they tell you they love you, you will probably
believe them. that sometimes you sit very still
and hug your knees and swear
that your heartbeats are almost like geological tremors.
forceful. purposeful. sometimes you think its bizarre
that there is even an inside of you when you've thought
you've destroyed
the complete set of bones and extra lung
and the carefully engineered systems of veins and blood
and muscle from all the wars.
like an ancient ruin, you never thought
you could stand.
so reading will never be good for you. there is
the risk of fire, self-inflicted pain, transmitted sadness,
transmitted grief.
tags: napowrimo, x