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wolf Your eyes aren't human;
they are the eyes of a young wolf, blue... no human eyes are blue. And so dark a halo around your head, some dark angel, some sweet nightmare, some contradiction. You haunt me, you demand me, you tear me limb from limb. I cry out, on the inside, pull away, pull away, pull away from me, from you. It feels like rape I consent to. I want you, I don't. What's in those wolf eyes of yours? Hunger, lust, hate. You are some wild animal on the inside, some smoothe thing on the outside. Growl, snarl, pounce. I want you, I don't. So fanatical, I will tame you. I've tamed so many wolves. Yet you, so wild and untried at your maturity, will be a chore to tame. I will steal your wilderness. |
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mother of linoleum When she's tired at night
her roots start to show not the roots of her dyed blonde hair like a commonplace whore but the roots of what she was before. A sweet little girl with the purest of hearts corrupted at last by life's cruel realities. Like the baby she lost and love's technicalities. In the dim lit kitchen her southern twang in a sing-song style like her mother's crept and told her tale of gladness while secretly she screamed of her madness and slowly drifted off to sadness cigarette burning between her half closed fingers she wished to even the score as the ashes fell to the linoleum floor but her bruised and scarred arms no thicker than a hickory switch like her mama used to beat her with. They could barely move these arms of hers. No matter how she played those charms of hers. And now she sits in fallen kitchen roots showing cigarette burning yearning for the hope that was lost at the end of innocence with innocence the cost. |
nwalins First say on the job
at the Market Cafe and already questions about the damned menu. But excited, just the same, to be in this gloriously rotting city. Intrigue about mysteries (will you be having drinks tonight, ma'am?) of Anne Rice proportions. The Vieux Carre the incessant throb of bass and whine of mosquito trumpet (the crawfish is excellent, sir) Something sinister roped together like Mardi Gras beads. |
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smile I hadn't noticed
until today that the message of our smiles had changed. What once hinted of sweet secrets now only seems to say We tried. And maybe that's what went wrong. I broke that unspoken rule of supposes maybes one days And now we shrug our shoulders raise our eyebrows and draw back a tight smirk We tried. |
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