Tuesday 3/12/2019 11:45:00 PM

we fell behind. the miles cut too deep. razors in our breath. and lead in our feet.

time betrayed. such is its nature. the pendulum broke. we ran, but we were much too slow. choice's maze tore threw us. until every direction was mapped in grief. the taste of the edge sweet and sour as we swallowed our mistakes.

still we remained confident as the distance bore down to measure us. even as we sunk. we assumed the surface would reappear.

slender needles. thinner threads. the incredulous magicians that work their illusions inside our heads. we bit the wind. we stabbed the sun. as everything around us became more real than we had ever been.

the path. all stilted footprints. the blood more stain than red. the lie more truthful than we care to admit.

the bottom changes. but eventually it finds us.

3/12/2019 11:03:00 PM

time spent us. in shallow puddles. in broken skins. we were still counting the miles long after they had forgotten us.

we were negotiating our seldom epiphanies. running in the rain. ignoring the distance. as the road bit down.

time spent its treasons. touch waged its wars.

it was over or had not yet begun. i searched for the difference.

we were so small. and the world was so large.

we dug. in the soil. lying. saying it was deep enough.

memories made their small cuts. clawing for leverage. as the end interrupted.

Sunday 3/03/2019 11:35:00 PM

She counted the shadows as the ground passed beneath her. Her stride a blur of music and grief. The miles came and went. Easy. Hard. Confident.

Her breath even as her muscles faltered to keep pace. The world a strange invader. Memory a steep staircase. Dense with velvet and regret.

Uneven corners. Weighted bridges. Obstacles like candy. No races. Just distance divided by speed. No finish. Just how far we've gone. How close we've come.

The sunlight devoured the curtains. He was still asleep.

She marvelled at the poetry of his unconsiousness. The grin of his breathing. The arrogannce of his peacefulness. He was alone. He didn't know it.

Never would.

Men break. Women bleed.

No one wins.

Wednesday 2/27/2019 11:44:00 PM

She took the key from his pocket. Unsure of what it might unlock.

His gaze followed her as she walked through the door. Into the day. Into the inferno of summer. It was early and it was already too hot.

It's simple she surmised. Basic arithmetic. Addition and subtraction manipulating skin. No art. No finesse. Just bodies colliding in a miasma of emotions.

Spit and blood. Stitches and splints. The stagnant epiphanies of touch.

She left the window open. To let the rain in. Weather was something she understood. Everything else, she was only guessing.

He was arrogant, yet insecure. A broken toy.

It was early. She was tired. Waiting for him to wake up

Tuesday 2/26/2019 11:28:00 PM

He was inside her, still she was empty. Her voice gone. She could see it in the distance. A pinprick of sound adrift in a vast silence. All her thoughts reduced to fairy tales. Wolves and children. Blood and semen. Beginning. Middle. End. No pauses. No places. Only protagonists and characters punching at the wind.

All the impossible places where we know each other.

She imagined herself to be currency. To be spent. Her value in what could be purchased.

He was soft and heavy. Like the broken chemistry of touch. The callous dynamics of humanity. All roar and weather. Graceless inertia negotiating the hungry charms of sympathy.

The house came into view and she thought it should've been bigger. It was small, but hollow. That seemed familiar to her. Everything disproportionate.

They drank like they knew each other. But everything about them was strangers except their loneliness. She lied and said it mattered because she wanted to understand him.

Morning turned hard. They were lost. Or finally knew they had been.

It didn't matter. She wasn't trying to go anywhere.


Thursday 2/14/2019 11:29:00 PM

the hours spent themselves. in safety pins and yarn. fiddling with the margins as the edge of the paper tore. her touch was a staircase. her memory a storm. all the math. all the history. wilting like discarded party favors. the monsters and the heroes. fussing over broken potato chips and empty soda cans.

the bridges debate the water below. theories of drowning in chocolate and flowers. it's over. or isn't it. this hollow compunction to quantify the hole.

time's clumsy blade. sawing on the flesh. searching for the meat hiding beneath the surface.

touch's nervous sprint. all finger paints and crayons. in the crook of tomorrow's dress. the thoughtless muse. the deceitful patron. as sober slips its needle in.

her silence a puzzle. the miles evaporate. in a stunning abyss of consent. choices dissolve like ice. as wanting finally finds its end.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.