There are no lady jackalopes.She dappled his neck with maraschino kisses,gazed with chocolate cordials,whispered in conversation hearts.He was young, incessantly male—as fine and upstanding as the picket fenceslining the back roads of consciousnessthat ran parallel to her heartland.Her body was vapid—a sweet nothing itself—a diminishing hourglass and stilettos,a rose beginning to wilt.She had slogged far enough into the sands of time,determined to get one last good fling beforeresorting to slathering mud about like a pig days ahead of slaughteror peeling away skin like birch bark.
blood waterdon’t worry, mama.it’s not dead, see?just sleeping.hold out your hand.feel that, mama?it’s still warm.look how small it is.but it’s not dead.just sleeping, mama.yes, dear, it’s sleeping.now put it back where you found it.just in case it wakes up.but, mama, i don’t want to.the pavement is too hard.the window sill is dirty.you have to, dear.everything in its proper place.how will it find its way?i’ll hold it ‘til it wakes up, mama.then i’ll put it in the tree.next to the feeder.i think there’s a nest there, mama.i saw two others yesterday.but not today, mama.do you know why, dear?we’re all hummingbirds--ruby-throated,beating wings and heartstowards a future meridian.that’s why it got left behind.sometimes, dear, we just aren’t fast enoughand sometimes…sometimes…we aren’t meant to find it.so, what i want to tell you isthe same thing my mama told me:don
Deep-sky ObjectsAcross the universe,before you and I, he and she, us, them, we:creviced constellations and thimble heavens,daybreak waves upon empty shores,endless sunrises.Forthcoming: sunsets.Guilty candle flames and waxing promiseshovering precariously in our memories,incensed dreams of breaking points,jade, and horizon lines devoid of sun, moon, or cloud.Keening present comes hell and high water.Lamentations adrift on covenantal arcs in timemeld into a sea of magpie dreams--Nine for a kiss;one for sorrow.Past is present, tomorrow's future, and yesterday's season.Questions rise and fall as monotonous heartbeats, weekdays, and lunar tides.Rings around Saturn seem closer in orbit than the kineticspontaneity of couples in tandem
The proximity of lips and palms.Universally, there is a temporal forever,virile in its continual strand of barren starswading into the black hope of a galaxyxenophilic in love.Yet nothing changes.Zen moments begin at the end: an acceptance of inev
50. SpadeI know the old saying,but it looks more like a trowel to me.
30. DeathIt was just as hard thento watch you wobble and collapse into the hereafteras it is nowto watch you gather dust and lilies.
46. StarThere are thousandsswirling about the vast expansesof the night sky,but you can wish on one.Choose wisely.
42. TriangleHe loves her.She loves him.But none of them realize.There's nothing left to deflower.Everything has been picked.
75. ShadeCrawl through the shadows of the dawnand drag through the last shreds of dusk.Press your cheek to the cool of the mirrorand your ear to the radio speaker.Go on and speak into the recorderor rap on the walls if you have the energy for it.
7. DaysGive a woman a fish, she'll be happy for a day.Teach her to fish, she'll empty the sea in an effort to find the other fish.
Inside Out.Inside Out.Do you love my insides?You know the parts you can’t see.The parts that constructively divide,All the places where you can’t be.Do you love my internals?You know all my unexploited crevices.All the words I leave out of my journal.The soft tissue areas that offer no benefits.Do you love my fleshy, raw fillings?You know the boring and bloody parts.The features that are not made for kissing.The invisible strokes that add to this body of art.You see it’s my exterior that attracts youBut it’s my interior that made this possible.So when my insecurities inadvertently attack you,Don’t be so swift to class me as distrusting and illogical.I need to know and to understand.That you truly love me for who I am.Even the parts of me you cannot seeBecause those are the places where I want you to be.Kela Lewis-Morin
Lady of 1876Ironically, it was my stubbornness which caused me to change my convictions. Though Nathaniel was undoubtedly a kind-hearted young man, he was incurably delusional. He entertained the strangest ideas, and then in his spare time vehemently tried to convince me they were true. People, sentient people, could be built from simple mechanical parts, he insisted.“All you’d need is a boiler and some clockwork. Just as you’ve got, Adelaide. Just as your inventor must’ve done,” he’d say. I usually ignored these benign ramblings and proceeded with what I was best at, namely repairing clocks and pocket watches. Nathaniel was a talented watchmaker and I was his assistant, soon to become his apprentice.Sometimes his theories were so absurd that I simply couldn’t ignore them. One such instance occurred when he decided to fixate on my hands. Apparently the fact that they were made of metal was proof that I wasn’t human.“No humans have metal hand
Ready To IgniteMy chest feels like a furnace,And my lungs are on fire.Death is my mind's only desire;But I will carry on with bitter grace,Knowing my ashes may leave no trace.My chest feels like a grenade,And my heart is about to explode.Shall I continue down this road?But now I stop because I am afraid,That the life I lead may never be saved.My chest feels like an anvil,And my ribs feel like lead.In my palms is black blood that bled,But I am scared so much my stare is still,With bleak eyes I accept misery for good or ill.
InspirationSo many nights of dreaming,Of wishing for magic and song,And when I awaken,My dreams continue,Leaving me longingFor a world of my own making.Characters beg for a chance to shine,For adventures,And a chance for love.How can I deny them?They live a life so different from mine,And yet,They are a part of me.I wonder who is more real?
An Ode to The PhantomThere is a boat on a lake,Burning candles on a cold black mirror.And this journey I will take,To find the man that I’ve been looking for.I’ll find him I swear,Chase him into the blackest night,I’ll find his lonely lair.And dry the tears from behind his mask.What will lurk behind?Some haunted face or tender spirit.I shall say words truly kind,And try to put his broken soul together.Across the keys his fingers dance,Enchanting beauty and bewitching senses.I am lost within a trance,And I know I’ll be forever his.Away from judgement and from light,We will spend the years together.And I’ll live in this blackest night,And stay with him forever more.
RuinTo the blade and its way,I cast it to the side,because of the marks in it's pride,I leave it to dull near the bay, I have thought it would be soon,That I rid myself of it's stain,but the hold of anger and disdain,tried with rage to cause a typhoon,Man cannot govern his own hand,without knowing the fence,Of the possibility and consequence,toward time and its stream like sand,Each little act of violence,brings more of its fruitage,Just like seeds of hatred and incense,Produces resentment and outrage,Man Crushes Man to their own turmoil,Moaning and groaning of something new,But never think till harboring water seeps through the soil,And tell themselves what to do,Vanity, Vanity, It was always vain,Blades come and go like the river of war,always pain,across and through time to its door.
Stick and Stones, LoveSticks and stones,May break my bones.But words can do much more.I find them scribbled on notes strewn about,And I hear your voice when I read them to myself.They come in soft whispers,Or thunderous shouts of anger.They can inspire a masterpieceFueled by joy or pain.They're sung sweetly in sunshineOr bitterly in rain.They can serve to begin or endSomething wonderful or terrible.They are how I know you.The bridges between our minds.They are the art of the commoner.You're lips, a brush, you're words, the strokesThe air is your canvas.You paint your perception with your voice,Giving me a portrait of what my eyes could never see.Will you show me who you are or who you want to be?With your words, youCan tell the truth or fool me.You create or destroy.With your words,You love or hate,You give or you take.Your words are your choice.There is life and death.In the power of your voice.
can you tell me, dearest?can you tell me, friendwhy my hand reaches for yours?at the most inappropriate of moments, i might mentioncan you tell me why you make me hurt inside?i actually think you might have taken up residence therepressing up against my ribcage,travelling through my veinsand plucking at my heartstrings(it's a sad melody, but a little bit cheeky;then again, you do like to tease me)can you tell me why i'm scared of you?even though you're the goddamn sweetest thing?i think i'm scared of your smileand maybe your eyes toothey're poems that i just can't graspbecause darling, there's no words for you.can you tell me why we move towards each othera quiet touch that's oh so platonicjust knees and fingertips and sometimes the brush of your hairon my cheeki don't know if you notice it like i dobut hell, my heart bursts every timei think it's killing me(but don't move away)can you tell me, dearest, why my hand reaches for yours?
don't fall in love with a poetHello, all you gentlefellows and ladies;I have a piece of advice for you.Nothing harsh, nothing meant to hurt.But here it is:Don't fall in love with a poet.Oh!I'm not saying it won't be brilliant.Because it most likely will be.(While it's happening.)It will be lovely, to fall into the iambic pentameterof her heartbeat.And you will adore the collisionof her mouth, and the obscure verse it whispersagainst your skin.She will love you;or not love you in whatever way suits her at that present time.It might be like fireworks.Or it might be like gentle moving honey.Either way, it will end.With a bang!and loud words (So passionate, these young ones.)Or then again it might just tail off.Casual, like.And then you're in real trouble, mate;She'll pick you apart.She'll pull you into words, she'll arrange you on a computer screenperfectly, just how she wants.She'll wrap you up in metaphors, encircle you in similes.She'll stab you with razor-sha
Significant HumansImagine we were important...Logos in the stars,Galaxies shattered for jihad,Sunsets in commercials,The Moon kicked in Superbowl,Dictators forever,The Solar System played as pool,Oceans in a soda,Mountains to bras,Glaciers sucked as popsicles,The Big Bang branded with copyright,Constellations critiqued in art journals.Futility is fun.
Look at the Girl...Look at the girl who's happy; who's laughingLook at the girl who's never snappingLook at the girl who's strong; who's proudLook at the girl who's always so loud...Now look at her when she's out of the crowd.Look at the girl who's sad; who's weakLook at the girl who's always so meekLook at the girl who's broken; who's deadLook at the girl whose arms have bled...Now look at her and what do you see?A girl whose mask is worthy of reverie?A girl who's broken, sad and alone?The girl who never wants to leave her home?You look at the girl and tell me who you seeA girl who's confident; courageous or a girl like me?
i miss you...I sit here in this rain, Waiting,Thinking of you.But no matter how long I wait on this bench, For you,You will never meet me here. I’ve got on my best dress, my cane,Even that old bowler hat you always liked,And I wait at the bench where we first met.But you will never meet me here again.I lean on my cane in front of me,Thinking of you,
Angel TearsImagine a raindrop is an angel's tearFalling from heaven on Gaia's mortal fearWeeping in unity their children's lost soulHeaven's pure spirit evil now doth controlEden of rapture consumed by time's flowA lost utopia where gluttony doth grow.Alluring serpent's lair humans covet the baitDevourer of truth so poisoned with hateInnocence now lost in maelstrom of desirePurity long blackened by greed's hungry fireThe spirit debased evil darkens the heartThe nefarious abductor tears the soul apartThe moment approaches the farmer shall reapLove now eternal for faithful lost sheepGnashing of teeth those left in despairTime now elapsed for repentance and prayerRenounce the darkness and take gentle heedEmbrace the truth be the Lamb's seed
Never SurrenderIt's all unjust. It's all unfair,Why does anyone give a care?Whether life is cruel or kind,I reserve the right to laugh than die,But I'll never surrender to these tears I cry.It's all untrue. It's all unbearable,Why are these thoughts in me so horrible?Whether death is clairvoyant or blind,I deserve the dignity to question my time,But I'll never surrender to these words I rhyme.
TickI search your cells with tiny fingers,split hairs in a ravenous fashion.Distinctive as a freckle or a mole,I move with you—I drink of you.When the time is right, pluck me away,set me aflame, or drown me in alcohol.