The Inspiration Monster

Petrichor

Fri, 03 Aug 2012 19:17:55 -0700

There is something decidedly intoxicating about the smell of a warm rain

Something about the mingling scent of damp asphalt and disturbed dust

And the fat pattering of droplets on flat, sun-beaten leaves

That drives away the flies and coaxes a relieved sigh of steam from the pavements.

The Fly

Thu, 02 Aug 2012 19:17:23 -0700

There is a fly in this house

That wont let me sleep.

As soon as my eyelids grow heavy enough to shut again

It comes buzzing around like a saw

Trying to cut its way into my ear.

I armor my orifices with blankets

In the hopes of anesthetizing myself to the sound

And I suffocate beneath their cotton weight.

Exposure

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 19:29:42 -0700

Pick the yarn loose from the thumb of my mitten

And let the glove unravel

I’m losing faith in these pearled stitches

Weave it back and forth between our fingers like a loom

Pull it taut until our fingertips pulse with blood too hot

Palms pressed tight as pennies to a train track

Keep your arm and your heart pumping with mine

Hold me too tight and drag along your heavy breath

Suck the biting cold clouds back in as soon as they form

The squalls are frigid but we can’t stop here

The dead leaves shudder too loudly in the gusts

We’ll make a hidden fire somewhere the wind can’t blow

The bears are not yet hibernating

The coyotes are still weeping

It’s not safe out here tonight

And I can’t tell which one of us is trembling

The Peacemaker

Tue, 31 Jul 2012 19:15:45 -0700

I’m planning for stability. I’m not here to

Cause trouble

Or to make waves.

What could I be? Well, lots of things.

Jack of all trades, master of none.

Oh, but I could be if I wanted!

Could be what?

Whatever you need, I guess.

I could be the referee that breaks up the water cooler gossip.

I could be the guardian of the paper bag lunches.

I could be the mint bowl monitor and keep it full and lush.

Whatever is there is for me to do.

Filling in cracks. Plugging up holes. Picking up slack.

I could be what you need

As soon as I figure out what

I am.

Iris

Mon, 30 Jul 2012 19:22:05 -0700

There’s a skyline in her lashes.

Thick, curling silhouettes of buildings curve upwards towards a brow-capped sky

That shimmers blue in the light.

Beneath the charcoal asphalt of her lid is a sinkhole.

It’s bottomless, ringed in green grass that’s patchy

With unwatered flecks of brown.

You can see where the subways venture towards the suburbs

Splaying outwards like the feet of crows.

It took years of laughter to lay down those lines

But the craftsmanship is so admirable that I could ride them anywhere.

A bubbling ‘ha’ signals the arrival of another train to the station

And I’m left debating if I want to catch it

Or throw myself into that endless sinkhole a little longer.

The Individualist

Sun, 29 Jul 2012 19:28:43 -0700

Parchment is the doorway to opportunity.

Not just what’s written on it

But what it can become.

Tell ten people to make a snowflake

And each will fold and cut the paper differently.

Each is unique, like the people who craft them.

Each is the work of an artisan.

Each set of hands is skilled.

So why don’t my snowflakes

Look like anything other than

Old faxes and wasted copies?

Theseus

Sat, 28 Jul 2012 19:26:19 -0700

She gave me gold thread

And a kiss in her stead

And with weighted breath said

‘Alright, go ahead’.

So inwards I tread

Through the maze of my head

From which I had fled

To find the Minotaur dead.

With a throat full of lead

I see I’m misled

For the valor ahead

Gave me corpses instead.

Something evil has spread

Something dark and unsaid

A thing fat and fed

That keeps sleep from my bed.

The Hunger

Wed, 25 Jul 2012 19:45:46 -0700

My gut writhes

Arms:

Fingerless

Boneless

Slick with the mucus of impalpability

Push outwards as if squeezed by birthing pains.

Stretch every orifice in a mad surge.

Ears ring

Sockets burst

Nostrils tear

Throat gags.

The tendrils soldier on,

Determined to build up the hoard

It has accumulated over time.

A relentless beast hoarding virgin sacrifices.

Books

Memories

Toys

Songs

Aromas

Words

All are abducted and pulled inwards.

It craves digestion

For fear of eating itself.

Of starvation.

Saint Anna

Tue, 24 Jul 2012 19:29:53 -0700

If I try to leave, she tries to push me

back inside. Slams doors in my face and tries to cave

the windows in. She tears at my hair and tries to rip the

clothes from my body like a drunken lover. If I walk too quickly

to escape, she spits hot desert sand in my eyes

and shoves me harder. Sometimes she throws things.

She once grew so angry that she crushed a

parked car beneath the weight of

a tree limb too aged and beaten

to stand up to her

anymore.

She takes the wheel

from my hands when we

drive and threatens to shoulder me if I

don’t fight her hard enough. She kicks rocks

across my windshield and tries to break in at the idea of

someone moving against her. She claws at my tires and

tosses other drivers at me in the hopes that they

won’t fight her as much as I do.

And yet, for all her tantrums

For all her howling, wailing, and snarling

No creature could breathe such vitality. Such life.

Into these old bones. Old wings.

Pulled too gruffly into the

gravity of the earth

beneath me.

The Oasis

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 19:27:08 -0700

In a desert of horned rams and maned lions

An oasis pooled,

But the Zebras -

Black, White, but never grey –

Brayed and kicked and condemned it to be

Poison.

“No creature shall drink from this

Pool of Putrescence!”

They whinnied at

The antelope

Who did not drink, but only bathed.

The Wildebeest

Who did not drink, but only rolled in mud.

The Giraffe

Who did not drink, but only grazed from the nearby grass.

The Hippo

Who, with dwindling patience, bellowed back

“Get out of my way!

I have a yeast infection!”

The Realist and the Scoprio

Sun, 22 Jul 2012 19:23:15 -0700

To make love to you is to participate in a religious experience.

To ‘make love’ is to procreate.

You revel in your secrecy, and are wont to leave companions and enemies alike guessing.

Nobody likes a snoop.

If crossed, your sting of vengeance is lethal to any who you deem deserving of retribution.

I don’t like to lose.

The mysterious orbit of Pluto is what leaves you so distant and frigid, I’m sure.

Pluto isn’t a planet anymore.

The moon in the seventh house is what renders you so unable to trust, isn’t it?

You stole that from ‘Hair’.

Touche.

Idle Tongues

Sat, 21 Jul 2012 19:24:20 -0700

Hear

Catchy jingles and saccharine siren songs

Sweeten the tune of your taste in my ear.

Laughter and liveliness at your liberation

Tantalize the tongues that have yet to take part.

I drown it all out with demons less derisive.

I hear no evil.

But I taste it.

See

Corrosive crystalline catches in the light

And lures in my line of sight with its lust and luster.

Scents of sacrilege seek to tempt with wild abandon

And aggravate the air around my salvationless salivation.

I avert my attention and assume another act of apathy.

I see no evil.

But I taste it.

Speak

Damnation and disgust that drips like disease from my mouth

Massacres the mission you’ve moved to put in to motion.

Your wiles and wares are worthless without the wants

That tear and trudge up my throat in a fruitless ploy for freedom.

I praise instead your insufferably innocuous supplement.

I speak no evil.

But I taste it.

Zombies

Fri, 20 Jul 2012 19:20:29 -0700

Start the car and shift to drive,

Disregarding gaping maws.

Promise that we’ll stay alive.

We’ll go somewhere we can thrive,

Far from dying eyes and jaws.

Start the car and shift to drive.

Undead armies form a hive,

Mindless feet and gritty claws.

Promise that we’ll stay alive.

Doom for the undead we’ll strive.

Grab the shovels, picks, and saws.

Start the car and shift to drive.

Even if they can revive,

And death gives them naught but pause,

Promise that we’ll stay alive.

I can’t say if we’ll survive

We’re almost fresh out of gauze.

Start the car and shift to drive.

Promise that we’ll stay alive.

The Breakdown

Thu, 19 Jul 2012 19:27:29 -0700

The car wouldn’t start.

Dave gave the steering wheel a final, frustrated spank with the heel of his palm and threw up his hands. His knuckles rapped against the low roof, and the buffered gesture of frustration sent his hands rebounding down to his lap, palms hitting his thighs.

Todd clamped down on a garbled snort of laughter from the back seat.

“Yeah, ha ha. Car trouble’s a real riot, ain’t it, Todd? Jesus Christ,” Dave said. Todd’s laughter subsided, but a smile continued to pull his lips taut at his older brother’s expense. The look Dave shot him through the rear view mirror was withering, and it was enough to slaughter whatever amusement lingered in the twelve-year old’s face. Todd’s eyes slid askance to study the empty road to their left as Dave rooted around his messenger bag, searching fervently for his phone.

“You just had to stop and take a piss that badly, didn’t you?” he said, and Todd shrugged with one shoulder.

“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” he mused sagely. “I held it as long as I could, honest.”

“Yeah, well…You could’ve said something at the last civilized exit we passed.” Dave words were harsh, but his expression wasn’t. The kid had a point. When nature called, there was no getting around it.

They probably would have been fine, too, if Dave’s car hadn’t chosen that moment to play possum. The mechanical nightmare had been limping along for the past two weeks with dogged persistence, but after they pulled over on the side of the cold, empty highway to water the plants, it had given up the fight and surrendered to its fate of being a hulking metal carcass.

Dave supposed it was his own fault for expecting any more of a three thousand dollar junker, though it wasn’t like he had any more reliable options in his derisory price range. Car affordability and quality wasn’t the only thing clamoring for his financial attention these days, and the threat of school loan sharks was more immediate and pressing than the possibility of getting saddled with a lemon.

“Stay put, I’m gonna see if we can get us a tow,” Dave said, and Todd wordlessly shifted his gaze from the road to the windshield to watch his brother get out and pace agitated half-circles around the front of the car, phone pressed to his ear. It rang a few times, the poor reception crackling in protest. Dave had never been happier to hear the sound of a receiver being picked up in his life.

“Mmmmhello?” a sleepy Southern drawl greeted him.

“Beth!” Dave cried. “My beautiful Beth, my bright, bubbly Beth. Eternally elegant Elizabeth – “ The accented voice cut him off.

“Save it for your right hand, David. It’ll appreciate it more than I will,” Beth jibed, and then gave an unapologetic yawn.

“Ouch. Exes really are cruel.”

“It’s my one day off work. My one day to sleep as long as I please, and you woke me up. This had better be good.”

“It appears I’ve dared to disturb the beast’s slumber,” Dave feigned terror. “Only the sound of busting balls and limitless matriarchal rule will soothe her-!”

“I’m hanging up, asshole.”

“No, wait! I’m sorry!” The feigned terror took a turn for the sincere, and Dave cradled the phone as if it would shatter at any moment. “C’mon, Beth. I’m just giving you a hard time…You know how I get when I’m stressed out.” There was a brief silence on the other end before Beth responded.

“Alright, spill it, then. What do I need to rescue you from this time?”

“My knight in shining armor…”

“Dave.”

“Okay, okay.” Dave conceded, grateful that he and Beth had yet to have a terrible fall-out, despite their breakup. He had no idea where the woman’s patience came from, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to question it. “The thing is, my car’s busted. I’m heading home for the holidays, and my mom needed me to pick up Todd from camp on the way. We made a stop on the side of the road and the piece of shit won’t start up again.”

“Have you tried looking under the hood?”

“Beth, it’s me. Do you really think that’d do any good?”

“Point taken. So, what do you need?”

“Do you still have your dad’s AAA information?”

The conversation continued, and Dave managed to wheedle what he needed from his formidable ex-lover. A few more witty retorts were tossed around for old time’s sake, and Dave eventually hung up.

It wasn’t until he went to dial the number for roadside assistance that he noticed the red battery flashing imploringly at him from the top right corner of his screen.

“Shit.”

The next phone call went much quicker than the last, and Dave mentally tore himself a new one for taunting Beth for so long. Karma was swift and immediate with him. It always had been. He managed to give the phone jockey his pilfered information, at least.

“And where are you stranded, sir?” The woman’s voice was smooth and even. It did little to calm Dave’s increasingly tight nerves.

“I’m Northbound on the I-29,” he said. He could practically hear the phone sucking up its battery’s last, desperate drops like a drunkard at last call. He glanced around, desperate for a road sign to point out exactly where he was. “Somewhere in Iowa, I think. Maybe south of it.”

There was a clatter of cheap nails against plastic keys, and the woman was quiet for what seemed like hours to Dave’s limited time. Finally, blessedly, she spoke again, that same calm tone reached his garbled, static-ridden end.

“Alright, sir. I have a rough estimate of your location, and we’ll be sending a tow vehicle your way shortly.”

“Oh, thank God,” Dave breathed. “You have no idea how grateful I am. This is such a relief.”

Silence ballooned on the other end. Dave’s chest tightened.

“Hello?” he ventured. “Hello?”

The discordant, pulsing tone of a disconnected line assaulted his ears, and he pulled the device away just in time to watch the screen go black.

“Shit.”

“So, is somebody gonna come and pick us up?” Todd said. He wrapped his arms around the back of the passenger seat as Dave slid in the driver’s side and pulled the car door closed.

“If they can find us, yeah,” he replied, leaning his seat back far enough to lounge. He spared a sideways glance to his little brother, noting the skinny arms that didn’t quite fill out his coat like they should have and the unkempt blonde locks. The potential of being stranded painted the boy in a frail light, and horrors sourced from fraternal affection flashed unbidden through his head; the car getting surrounded by coyotes that wanted to tear them both apart, axe murderer vagrants wandering by in need of a nice place to sleep, freak blizzards that would swoop in and bury them alive in the unpredictable throes of a middle America winter…

On top of that, his mind refused to let him forget the money this was all going to cost. Sure, the tow was free, but he had no idea what was wrong with the car. What if it was the alternator? What if it was the engine? What if the whole car was done for good? He had no idea where the money was going to come from to fix it. If he had no car, how would he get to work? What if he lost his job because of it? He was already behind on rent. He’d get booted for sure, and then where would he go? Back to Minnesota to live at home? At twenty five years old? There was no room for him there anymore, and he knew it.

“Get comfortable, kiddo. We might be here a while.”

Todd settled in to his seat with a small sigh, one that mostly stemmed from boredom more than any kind of concern. Dave idly wished that he could see their predicament so simply. If only boredom were his biggest problem… With nothing but the silence between them to ward off his encroaching worries, Dave shut his eyes and attempted to sleep.

Surprisingly, it was the silence that kept him up more than anything.

Dave peeled open an eye and took another look at his little brother in the back seat, surprised that he wasn’t already bouncing off the windows in a bout of unspent youthful vigor. Usually kids had trouble sitting still, right? Especially little kids.

Todd just sat there, observing the vacant scenery outside of his window with patient disinterest, just about as rambunctious as the undisturbed gloss of frost on the barren corn fields that sprawled around them.

Looking again, Todd didn’t seem that little, and it startled him. When had he grown so much? It seemed like only yesterday he was barely able to string together sentences.

Dave was the one to eventually break the silence.

“Hey…” he started, rolling on to his side to face his sibling. “How was camp, anyway? Did they have you singing cheezy songs and eating mystery meat?” Todd didn’t look at him, choosing instead to breathe fog onto the window to draw meaningless patterns in it.

“Not really. Science camp is a little different. We did build a rocket, though,” he murmured. Dave’s eyebrows lifted. Rockets? He had no idea Todd was smart enough for things like that. Where the hell had he been?

As far away from home as possible, remember? His brain dutifully reminded him. A sudden bitterness clutched him. In all his time spent at home, his mother had never offered to send him to any specialty program.

“Rockets? That’s pretty cool. How’d mom afford sending you to a fancy camp like that?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but Todd saw right through it, as kin often do, and finally turned a glance toward him. His lip curved up at the side. It was a smile, but it was pained.

“It was free. Part of an underprivileged scholarship program thing,” Todd stated. “I got straight A’s all year and didn’t miss any classes.” That initial bout of bitterness instantly left Dave, and he felt guilty for feeling it at all. Of course Todd had to work for it. He had to work for everything he got, just like Dave.

And just like their mom, too.

His guilt deepened to something more shameful, but it was far too familiar a sensation to faze him. That guilt was what had obligated to pick up his brother in the first place. He knew how much gas it took to drive so far south. It would have been all sorts of cruel for him to refuse the request his mother had called with.

The conversation between them had been succinct, at best. Dave never did much care for talking on the phone, and forced pleasantries with his mother were almost always strained. They got along well enough now that he was out of the house. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Dave had found himself quite fond of being as far away from the house, and its financial woes, as possible. Texas was as far as he could go without hitting ocean, so the University of Texas is where he’d settled.

The debt of loans he’d accrued was making him regret it more and more, but the way he saw it, he hadn’t had much of a choice. His mom had begged him to go to a closer school, but he knew what would have happened if he had. His mother had stayed single since their dad had died of a heart attack, and the financial strains were mind boggling. As Dave had gotten older and older, he’d grown more and more aware of the monetary burden he was on her. It left him feeling guilty, and that unsourced guilt quickly turned to bitterness. He hadn’t wanted to feel guilty for something he couldn’t control, so he’d distanced himself; removed himself as a problem as much as possible and grasped hold of independence as soon as he was able, so his mom wouldn’t have to worry about him or any of his finances.

The distance had taken its toll, however, and looking at Todd, Dave was starting to see that the toll hadn’t just been taken on him. His brother was a stranger to him.

The conversation stalled as soon as it started, and Dave struggled to pick it up again with this boy he hardly recognized.

“Straight A’s, huh? Good for you.” It wasn’t much, but Todd seemed to take to it well enough regardless.

“Yeah, mom’s really proud,” Todd said.

“I bet she is. How’s she doing?”

“Didn’t you talk to her on the phone?” Todd gave him a furrowed brow. Dave’s eyes slid sideways.

“Well, yeah, but we didn’t get a chance to talk much.”

“She misses you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“How come you only visit on the holidays?”

“I’m…” Dave floundered for his words, trying to keep them as neutral as possible. “I’ve got a lot of stuff going on.”

“School stuff?” Todd inquired.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Then how come you don’t call instead? Or write letters or emails or something?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Dave, I just built a rocket,” Todd chided, a childlike arrogance creeping into his voice. “How complicated can it be?”

Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt like he was getting interrogated by the Spanish Inquisition. The car felt suddenly too small, and he struggled to conjure up a way to explain to a twelve year old why he felt like a financial burden to his own mom, how much it tore him apart to see her so strained, and how much of a coward he was for extracting himself from it all and running.

“Alright, look,” he started, sitting up in the driver’s seat to better face his sibling. “Mom doesn’t have a lot of money, right?” Todd gave him another one-shouldered shrug.

“Well, she doesn’t okay? In fact, she has to work her butt of to scrape by with what she has.” The words were coming in a deluge now, he could feel it, and he wasn’t sure he could stop them even if he wanted to.

“The house she lives in is cramped and small. She has to work long-ass hours just to make ends meet, and you have to ride the bus home every day and fend for yourself for dinner most of the time. She can barely feed you and her. Now put me back in the picture, and remember how much shittier it was before I moved out. There were three mouths to feed, not just two. There were two kids who needed Christmas presents under the tree. Two kids who needed lunches at school. Two boys who needed backpacks and papers and clothes and shoes and all the other shit a kid needs to get by. Do you have any idea how much I cost mom? Any idea how much of a relief it is for her now that I’m out of the house and not sucking up her precious resources?”

Todd didn’t respond immediately, taking the time to digest the flood of explanation.

“Yeah, but why don’t you ever call?”

Dave pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and bit back a groan of frustration.

“Because she doesn’t need me to be there, reminding her that she can’t provide for me, get it?” Dave said. “The more I call, the more she’s going to want to know what I’m up to, and the more she knows about what I’m up to, the more she’s gonna know how much I’m hurting for cash to get by, and she…she just doesn’t need that, okay, Todd? I’m struggling. I’m struggling a lot, and I don’t want her knowing it and then being forced to sit on the sidelines, with barely a penny to her name to help me out, to watch me choke and drown in my own debt.” He felt his pulse hammer beneath his skin, a mixture of that old, rusty guilt and exposed shame coursing through him faster than those stupid rockets they built at Todd’s camp. Dave turned back to the steering wheel and pressed his lips into a thin line, brow pinched as if his emotions had morphed into literal pain. “It’s just… better this way.”

Todd didn’t speak for a long time. His eyes wandered with that seemingly disinterested haze to the back of the passenger head rest and lingered there for a while as the car settled back into a heady muteness that Dave was more than happy to let swell. Todd ventured to speak again, but his eyes didn’t leave the back of the front seat.

“Hey, Dave? What do you miss most about home? About living with mom?” he asked. Dave dragged his eyes from the dash and looked back at him, searching for some kind of ulterior motive. Finding none, he figured the kid just wanted a change in topic to something happier, and that was fine by him. This time it was his turn to give a shrug.

“Lots of stuff, I guess,” he started. A smile tweaked his lips upward for the first time that day and he let himself reminisce. “Don’t tell her I told you, but sometimes when you were in bed and I was still up, she’d let me have sips of her wine,” he mused. “I mean, it tasted awful, but I felt pretty badass drinking it.” Todd smiled at this, and Dave took it as a sign to continue. “I miss her chicken Florentine crepes, and her macaroni and cheese. Hell, I even miss her meatloaf sometimes.” Dave’s smile faded slightly, but it didn’t leave. “I miss hearing her sing to herself after we were both in bed, and I miss her hugs goodnight sometimes. I miss her always cheering me on, and I miss her good advice, and I miss her support… Shit, I miss her.” He slowly fell silent, his brow pinching again as a wave of homesickness – a wave that had been kept dammed up for years – slammed into him and rocked him harder than he could have possibly imagined.

Todd didn’t respond right away, and Dave glanced back, afraid his rambling had put the boy to sleep. Todd was staring at him with a clever sort of smile, one filled with a gentility that he only ever saw in their mother. One that seemed far too mature for a child of twelve, and yet there it was.

“That’s all, huh?”

“’That’s all, huh’?” Dave’s shoulders dropped, his tone incredulous at best. “I spill my guts to you like you’re my personal fucking diary and that’s all you have to say? You’re a shitty brother, Todd.” Todd’s smile broadened to something more salacious at the accusation, and he shifted in his seat for the first time since they’d broken down as if he was sitting on some big secret.

“Well, it’s just that you picked some pretty silly stuff is all,” Todd said, and Dave reeled, suddenly feeling constrained and vulnerable again.

“Silly? How is any of that silly? That stuff I just said is fucking important!” He could feel the tips of his ears burning, even in the chill December air.

“But you know, Dave… You can’t buy any of that stuff with money.”

The silence that followed was palpable, and was broken only by the audible bobbing of Dave’s apple as he swallowed.

“Well, yeah,” Dave said. His throat was dry like he’d just been caught in a lie. “Of course you can’t. You can’t put a price tag on stuff like that.”

“So, if all that stuff mom does for you is free that you miss so much, how come you don’t call?”

He stared at Todd – scrawny, blonde, twelve year old Todd - and Todd unflappably gazed right back with his broad, shameless smile. Dave withered under his grin in all its simplistic logic. That old shame bubbled up again, and it licked fiercely at his insides like fireworks in his belly. Todd had pulled his one good excuse out from under him and revealed the cowardice underneath with such ease and grace that Dave almost wanted to punch him for it. He didn’t even notice the tow truck pulling up until its lumbering engine was cut and its driver got out to rap a fat knuckle against Dave’s window.

“Hey, buddy. I hear you need a lift,” he rumbled, voice as heavy set as his bulging frame.

“Yeah, thank you,” Dave said, barely loud enough for the tow man to hear, though his eyes never left his brother. There was mercy in that grin of his, and the expression was infectious. Before Dave could stop himself, that bubbling shame burst within him and rose out of his throat in a fit of laughter. Laughter at Todd. Laughter at himself. Laughter at the absurdity of himself that he’d refused to acknowledge for so long. He did his best to stifle the noise and properly address the man trying to extract them from their solitude. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.” Dave breathed. “I just… This is such a relief.”

It was time to go home.

The Princess is the Frog

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 19:20:26 -0700

She gets her feet from her father’s coat pocket.

It’s just hanging there, empty

Until he gets home

And the gloves fit over her toes perfectly.

It’s warm in the coat closet.

She enjoys the feel of her mother’s fur shrug

And lets the mammalian sensation become

Foreign to her.

She emerges

No longer a girl

And her aquatic kingdom sprawls out before her

like a fantastical carpet

Rolled before Her Majesty.

The tiles of the foyer -

No, the lily pads on the lake -

are chilled against her palms

But the gloves on her feet keep her toes warm.

That’s important.

Amphibians are cold-blooded, you know.

There’s water here.

Quick!

A jump to the far corner ensures safety.

The tiles by the carpet are attracting flies.

Mmm, dinner.

Far better than the broccoli last night!

Her mother crosses the foyer

Tracking dirt across the carpet of her fantasy.

The moment is lost

And she sits back on her haunches.

Are you pretending to be a frog, sweetie?

No, I am a frog.

Was a frog.

Now I’m not, because frogs can’t talk.

But you can’t be a frog, sweetie.

Why?

You’re a mammal, sweetie.

Oh.

Tomorrow, I will dress in the shrug

And be a tiger instead.

Tigers are mammals, you know.

Honeycomb Ears

Tue, 17 Jul 2012 19:30:02 -0700

There is a wonder beneath the city;

A labyrinth that sprawls and twists like a spider’s web.

It holds people captive like flies.

Sticky like honey

They drip temptations into my ear.

The city can’t love you like we can.

Come into the world of piracy with us, darling.

Under the pavement

Peddlers drape me in their wears.

Captains adorn me with worthless metals.

Horrible creatures of terror dangle from my earlobes.

This, they say, will grant you immunity

Community

And Opportunity.

There’s a ringing in my honey-soaked ears

Like a phone off its hook.

I let it leave a message for now.

There are drinks to down

Merriment to make

And freedom to flaunt.

Soldier Frost's Wife

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 19:29:02 -0700

She is that well-worn cloth that that droops as tossed,

That lies unfolded now, come flood, come stain,

But still lies rumpled as it blocks the drain.

If we could only understand the cost,

The sacrifice of domesticity,

We make in times of troubled politics,

The battle wounds at home we cannot fix.

It leaves behind a rank toxicity,

That permeates her body, soul, and mind.

In absence of her love, stagnancy creeps,

Like mildew in a cloth where water seeps.

She goes unused and feels inclined to find,

Some kind of reason for her stifled fear,

The reason that her lover is not here.

I Sit

Sun, 15 Jul 2012 19:23:49 -0700

I sit for three cold days.

I sit for three dark nights.

Sit like death on Emmanuel’s chest

Waiting patiently for a miracle from God to move me

My escape occluded by glass windows, lacquer wood

And festering wounds in the shape of harsh tongues

That hit me until I fled.

I sit for three days

And watch the falling snow.

I sit for three nights

And listen to the wolves and coyotes moan.

I sit until stains from the grass infest my back pockets.

I sit

And I’m afraid.

Hard Times at the OK Corral

Sat, 14 Jul 2012 19:23:18 -0700

Our knees were bent

Wide stanced and flat footed

We moseyed with weeds between our lips

Weeds like wheat

Moseying like cowboys in the grass

Until the heat gave us an ultimatum of

Hot rivers of black ice or the juices of prickly pears

In which to cool our heels

We moseyed until callouses formed god-given sandals

We moseyed until our lips chapped and cracked

We moseyed until the sheriff died

And then we moseyed no more

The Inspiration Monster

Fri, 13 Jul 2012 19:31:14 -0700

The

Idea

Starts

Out

Harmless.

Content,

Creature

Fish

Tank

The

Back

Mind.

Feed me,

It cries.

Little thoughts in

The quiet before

Sleep sprinkle nourishment

Into that mental

Fish tank of

Ideas, and curious

Tentacles emerge from

The curved glass

Of its prison,

Starving for more.

Feed me, it cries,

And I indulge it.

I free it from its

Tank, and allow it to

Take up residence on my

Hand. It taps my pencil

Restlessly against my class notes;

Possesses the margins of my

Papers until there is nothing

Left for it to take.

Feed me, it cries once more,

And heedlessly, carelessly, I enable it.

The idea greedily possesses my entire arm,

No longer satisfied with my happy distractions

In between bouts of notes and lectures.

Its tentacles grip too tightly, my fingers

Tense and tremble of their own accord.

It hunts down reams of paper like

They were schools of thin, white fish,

And utterly decimates them through my hand.

Nothing is safe from its obtrusive gluttony -

Tables, sheets, mirrors, even the very walls.

I beg it to stop, my arm…

It’s so tired, and there’s nothing left.

Feed me! It roars, more desperate than before,

And drags me, helpless and frightened, into the streets.

It hunts like a predator for more inspiration,

Horrible limbs clawing and grabbing at every passerby,

Shaking them and thrashing them for their stories.

I wail for release, but it’s not satisfied.

It slithers in windows and invades people’s privacy,

Tearing apart their lives, searching for its opus.

Displeasured and enraged, it rounds on its host.

I beg it for mercy, plead for sanity.

Feed me! It screams, and I’m simply too exhausted,

Too vulnerable to fight its insatiable hunger any longer.

It subjects me to its awful thrashing and pitiless tearing.

It rips my mind asunder and ravages whatever is left,

Devouring each trauma, each cathartic moment, with its gnashing beak.

It gorges itself on all of my pain and struggle.

It swallows whole every delicate, fleeting moment of candid tenderness.

When it stops, I’m left nothing but an emotional husk.

But it stops. Blessedly, mercifully, the awful creature finally falls silent.

Bloated and engorged, it hauls itself back through the streets,

Dragging me along with it like a lifeless doll.

It takes its time, slowly meandering back home.

Once there, it sets up a canvas,

And grotesquely purges its emotional feast

Though the paintbrush I hold

Onto the blank slate.

It’s finally over.

Until it

Needs to

Feed

Again.