This iS Real. Like A Kid’s Meal!

If she wants to explore different avenues on the side, “the side” will have to move from the margins to the center of the page, because I am not just another name on a list. For the first time in ages I am not playing games or wasting time. This is real.

Overheard Overhead

Certain nights we spend casting wishes into wells beyond our imagination. On other nights we cry wolf. When the coyotes begin to bay, where will we turn for support?

Who Knows…

Regret is something I try to live without, but often choices are made that make me wonder if I’m doing the right thing. At times like these I’d like to fly away from this place and forget the faces that served to tear down the walls inside my mind. I have been exposed and I am afraid I will not be able to rebuild if left alone to sift through the rubble.

Something Needs To Change

He said all it takes is some initiative. Force yourself to make one drastic alteration and everything else will fall into place. I wanted to take that piece of advice.

There Is A War On

A distance too great creates a gap incapable of being bridged. Though in motion, it is impossible to steer. Wheels are dislodged from tracks, the vehicle veers off course, inevitably becoming lost. Lost. No signposts guide the way home. Only aloneness and the sound of heavy helicopter rotors so deafening.

A Room Full Of Plastic

In here time stops. In here there is only canned air.
In here everything echoes. In here we’re all safe.

Roof Songs

This bedroom absorbs illness.
It is sick and coughing and sneezing.
The clock with it’s bright red eyes
Is the bogeyman
In an adult nightmare.

Need Young Girls

This sign was attached to the window of a painted black van whose doors were bolted shut with master locks. It was the most sinister looking vehicle I’d ever encountered. It reads “NEED YOUNG GIRLS.” The fine print says something about performing housework, but I think we both know what’s really going on…

Tools Of The Trade

I’m always coming up with dumb ideas at unfortunate times. I need to jot them down before my hyperactive mind switches to the next new thought. Repeating words, phrases, stanzas through clenched teeth; forcing myself to remember something long enough to write it. These help.

Inside Melted Caps

Newly crowned queen come back. Come back.
A finger pressed against lips quells all fears. “Shh, be quiet now.”
Though your brow heavy with sweat, you will not drift into the void.
So very strange, the fallacy of this evening.
There is never any rest for the love obsessed.