Level Three Emergency
We’re snowed in
at a Motel 6
and I’ve still got it,
the gold chain we stole
from your mother
that rainy Easter.
Tell me to turn up the radio
and dance like we’ll die here,
frozen and hungry, naked.
There is no resisting fire.
I could last forever, a jewel
thief for you, searching
for enough amber
to fossilize our love.
Tell me to wear this gold
chain around my neck, a collar
or dog tag to show the new world
what you mean to me.
We’re snowed in;
Read more "NATE ELIAS – LEVEL THREE EMERGENCY"
I could last until the sun
thaws us from the past
and frees us from this room.
Wallace’s Story Wallace said: We were at this craft fair Quilts and pot holders Goats’ milk candles and god knows. My wife likes this stuff And I go along. I call it “Putting money in the marital account,” And besides, somebody has to pay. This little woman came hobbling up to us About 50 inches […]
Read more "ANDREW HUBBARD – WALLACE’S STORY"
Sunday evening is worse than Monday morning,
The fear of death, says Sir Francis, is worse than death.
A sickly feeling rises and churns in my stomach,
even now, after I’ve lived through such seven hundred
and seventy non-workingSundays. It’s the same every time.
It starts rising from Saturday. In the morning
a panic reminder rings, a tightening in intestines.
Saturday evening warns me that the next
will be the last before death comes again.
Read more "Rajnish Mishra – Sunday Evening"
Exodus or the spark of life is electricity
(for my mother and father)
He remembers hearing the words
we are not couples that fight all
the time. He looks at his wife who
is not speaking to him. ‘We are
who we are’. And thinks to himself
that the sea is tired. Perhaps
as forlorn as he is. He’s a man in the garden. He imagines the sun
covering the dark water. Cold to the
touch. He wonders what the right
language of love is for winter guests.
How to make peace with his wife.
He wants to embrace her. Take her in his arms
as if she was a girl
again. Brush her hair out of her
face with his granadilla hands.
Forget that he is in the autumn
Read more "Abigail George – Exodus or the spark of life is electricity"
of his years. He wants to forget
that he used to do this for a living.
He wants to know if his unhappy
marriage is on the verge of cracking up. He wants to know
if she’s finally going to leave him.
So I’ve heard all these people
rappin’ ’bout relationships
But I’ve just lost one
‘Bout 6’2 with some attitude
But I just wanted him
But I wasn’t the only one
The man up there
was calling him, too.
Dad, now that you’re gone,
I just don’t know what
You were loving, caring,
You were always there
I will miss laughing with you
because, that’s what we would
I remember when
I was only 9 you taught me
the basics of
You were a
never taught by anyone
All I want to do now is
take my life
but I can’t do a recap
That’s an unforgivable sin
and something I don’t
So now all I gotta do
is stay close and
the things I did
I never wanted you
to leave but
that’s what you had
were a man that
would do anything to
achieve his dreams;
would spoil us
and make us feel
That’s what made you happy
and us too,
After grandma was gone,
you were, too.
let the bad stuff take
care of you.
We told you
everything would be okay,
and that’s what she told
All we wanted was for you
to get help but
that wasn’t somethin’
went through thick and thin
and that’s what we had to do
You asked why He did this
but he has plans for everyone,
He saw that you were hurting,
but He knew what He had
He knew it was going to hurt
a lot of pople
But it was the best
for us- even you.
Dad, I miss you a lot
and you know
But now I know
to not let the bad stuff get
You’re happy now and that’s
all that matters to me-
that you are you!
Daddy, I love you.
Read more "Allasandra Raceen Buckner – YOU"
Love or Some Other Implement of Exfoliation
“Things have to keep breaking until they’re whole.” –Constance Plumley, “La Nuit”
The thing about the bombing of Dresden
was all the china. An entire industry
reduced to dust in the space
of a few hours.
When you showed
me your heart, Constance, I saw
a street, filled with rubble, blue-
flecked pieces scattered between,
and I asked you if you’d let me be
the jeweler with pots of glue
and molten gold. Days spent
with loupe attached to glasses,
a harvest of shards deposited
in a burlap sack,
then nights spent
at the jigsaw table, piece after piece
rotated, rearranged, until one demitasse
cup approached completion.
my arm and begged “don’t leave me”
again and again; I told you
our work had just begun. An entire
profession remains to be reassembled.
This is the work we do, and from it
we shall emerge, not new, not pristine,
but stronger, a semblance of what we
were before. Imperfect but together.
1The title is a line from Tim Staley’s “Duet”.
Read more "ROBERT BEVERIDGE – LOVE OR SOME OTHER IMPLEMENT OF EXFOLIATION"
Brutal Truths and Lying Light
You can peel off your scars
Read more "ROBERT BEVERIDGE – BRUTAL TRUTHS & LYING LIGHT"
like so many old and dirty
band-aids. Pain makes a great
affectation, don’t you think?
The writers want you to reveal
your third nipple in the season
finale. Give them an expensive thrill.
Make no mistake, this is a game
of ratings and dogs’ breath.
Take another swig of condensed
Windex, another bite
of urinal cake. Breath is freshest
when it’s blue. Nice to see you.