Tag: break up

moon slip–poem

how silly my moon slip
into down     my lips
pocus wrap in yours
and I’m sorry about
celestial ache and howl
and how are you
getting down from here?
will you climb cloud
humid spilling? crawl?
beg the ailing air
to backbend into ladder
place your foot in the
spinal gnocchi rung
stumble out of this skin


life is crazy. my apologies for the sabbatical. 

Poem that isn’t about Corn

One summer we grew corn. Cutting into the Virginia clay-sand soil. (My mother always cursed the dirt. Spoiled fertility.) I knifed three rows, ripping and clawing at clods of grass. Thick with sweat, slick skin slipping their grip on the yard tool just as suitable to cleave open his skull at the temple. That thought didn’t occur as the lower lumbar ache spread like a pandemic—flushing my muscles in a race of infection. Maybe somewhere deeper—nestled in a bed of arteries, feeding off fresh bleeding—it was growing. He was breeding me for domesticity. I loved those little pink seeds. I held them in my sticky palm. They looked like rock candy. I imagined sinking my teeth into the tawny flesh of that fruit. The hours, the labor, the loved poured over that fruit—the ache of that love would be tangible. I would sink my teeth into that flesh and sever it for good. but We let it die. Let it rot tall in its stalks. A mockery of that ache.




First draft. Very in the works.



Sometimes I feel allergic to his touch,
like when he grips my hips when we’re
twisted in sheets.. that his fingers
will slip to my throat to hold
until I choke. There’s something about
that first man. Oh men. I’m a recovering
addict. My model of love is barbed
wire wrapped tight around
a crumbling orchid, a rose
shoved through the holes of brass
knuckles. I am ripped petals bleeding
pollen, a broken womb. He’s trying
to repair these lips but I’m not
having any of it. I’m just buying time
to run away
and taking every inch of his skin
while I can.



He didn’t even try to save me.
He cut a gash in my life boat,
pulled the string that strung
together my wooden raft,
amputated my legs that kicked
my body closer to air. &He
drank the blood that drained
from my stumps, then mocked me
for being unable to swim.
&Waited for me to get over it.
He’s still waiting somewhere.


these seem a little more raw and less “wordy” or language laden than usual. fascinating. ]

Rêve de Fleurs

When I lay my body down to rest
flowers will reach out the sockets
of my eyes, wrap tendrils around
my cheekbones, and suck the breath
from my throat.
In my dreams I still sleep neck deep
in someone else’s hate, drinking
his self-loathing, cloaked in the silt
of his misery. He should have but
he never could have saved it.
He rots in my memories, feeding
the flowers that suffocate me
in my sleep.


Goodbye (day eight)

Goodbye to you,
goodbye to the black ash
you left around my eyes,
to drowning drunk nights
so far from sober
I couldn’t dream of crying.
No more begging
your memory to rise
with the curl of grey smoke,
every limb of yours flushed
in the plume of ceremonial
flames. Only to fall back
down with the black ash,
to stain my skin
and seep into the dirt.
That’s why I didn’t
burn you. I let you
fester, let you
let my memory fester
in your gut–rotting,
edging away at the softest
part of you, an ever
crumbling debasement
of character. Words that torment
the brightest vibrancy
of laughter–let your lips
demoralize someone else.
She drove your things away today
and I feel better.

write a valediction (a goodbye). I’m still one poem behind. I’ll catch up, promises! &thank you my loves for 50+ followers and 200+ likes!! ]