Creative Writing
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Lost award,no one could tell youto keep losing those tearsinside vacancy.Were these ruinstoo cold, far too old,in that stilled rush? Your eyes run,while your feet walkto a door left over your shoulder,and you never turn your headto see who stands still, and who has stopped breathing inafter you walked out. Something afforded youremembrance, drowned underresurgence.…
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Bleached lips. White eyes.Deadness, in under a heartbeat,upon hearing that signal –a voice, a distant shrill,that it is too late to let me knowbefore blood was revealed in snow. I have a letterbeing blocked of its return,from higher degreesof intimate temperature.All that you felthand-written, in the sadnessboth of us did meltpledging us, deep into underwater.…
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Lost in a drift. Adrift,sidelining barriers, letting dams break,arms be open, guards be dropped,in a place where nothing faded,inside a space where nothingever degraded, choosing instead to rise upward,to bring us close. To drown us in our emptied minds,to reveal those glimmersfrom achievable sunshine. A sunrisestares, as if finding our yearningmatchable. Here, in these depths,finding…
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Color up that moon,hanging looselyupon your untouchable shoulder,for I see you looking overboard,seeking some starkness,hovering your eyes abovewhirlpools, distant rocksat the bottom of transparent,mirroring lakes. You desire a solid color,a face that never changes.That is whyyou turn to those nightswhen that moon,a mere lie that blinds,finds you covered upin bedsheets, in comforting deceit. For whom…
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I brought in someone, different.Frank, with newness. Once bleeding out,and here, dreaming while afloat,keeping her scars close.Marrying this world, combiningselfless shame with bottomless pain,to become a witness to clarityin a perfume of stars. A deck, for a bodythat has loosened itself up,turning down, once, and reusingthose old notes, emptyin their shallow tone.Whose hell was she…
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At whose presence? Was he to live? Was he to stay living? For a woman born, and also scorned. She was left to a place, inside fatal ruins, becoming and living for that fatality. He came through, entered through, and brought forth all he could not leave for merely himself. A promise. A gift. Some…
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Blacked out, words of remembrance,a final ocean to deplete,in stages, inside thinning graces,imagining what could, what could notever depart at a single glance,a pair of eyes that run,and never walk. You never turnedto see that outpouring sunlight,hoping those flames would terminatetheir display of hopeless life. A reflection, your dissection,alit on tiniest hourglasses.Time could be your…
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A grave.A pair of tunneling eyesturning sidewaysto lift something, adjacentto whomever sheds color,always. Like a leaf,drifting, wandering –with every thought finding faultin those stable ways,those fabled days. Like all those journeysof those faces, buried in hearts,light had left those who were plentyin their surrender, going empty.How can you ever rope insomething that was never given…
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Surrounded in haze, buried in clayfigurines, for they hold you closein earthen shelter. Are you in Heaven,where eyes are lookouts, lighthousesin all looming stars? Frozen body. Worn temperament,another hour, another chanceto close that emptying draft – your breath under a blue moon,one that becomes redduring days when you are dead. A loving heart for allwho…
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Here’s this darkundercurrent. A pathwayto explore, when all I had,where all I held, were stones,pulled down within pockets – dragged to seea void of discontent within me. You were that ropearound my feet,with one more kiss to remind meof whom I had knelt before,lost deep, buried beneath. You were a force,a contagion that moved swift,keeping…
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A nightlight keeps me aware.For our words, we have all things to dareto keep our eyes open, though we havealways hoped that those storieswill keep pausing at desperate pages,keep us against that next minutewhere an ending might take place,where this book might burn, as we’d wilt within a hollow vase,exploring our emptiness, uncovered,finding our breath…
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Who guesses you? No one knowswhere you will end up, left offin flowering gardens, or buried underwith seeds, drowning or deprived. Are you sleeping? Are you keepingeverything sheltered? Another symptomrises from your colored, discoloredheart, and you’ll continue to float, holding your eyes wide open,for your sadness can be nothingto, for this blackening world,ever hide, in…
Modern Romanticism 