Apotheosis

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I’m a mnemonic device
Helping you remember
Past, distant love.
I dropped my shoes
And modesty at the front door;
You’d save the best for last,
But I still stepped first in line.
I emerge from beneath surface tensions
A pictorial attack to a balanced system.

There’s no need for oscillators in such a cold room;
Spin me ’round and ’round anyway.
Show me the epiphenomenon
In your guiltless, romantic wandering.

The sky is a heavy responsibility,
I’ve let it down,
My hands arbitrarily whispering
Limping excuses.
I’m speaking the lines to
An apotheosis of the girl asleep in the castle.
The script says this is Henry the Fifth,
Which is strange,
Because I was just trying to write your names in the clouds.

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Goodnight, Sleep tight

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I’m sleeping soundly,
For the first time in…
A while.

Unnerved by a new routine
I’d rather stay wakeful,
Listlessly alert.
I sleep on my back,
Coffin-practice,
That’s good for my spine.
It’s harder to wrap arms around me,
Like that.
I sleep better next to you,
So please leave.

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One More For The Road

Remember,
The tears dripping like honey
They baptized me,
Hopeful for rebirth, somehow.

Remember,
Your whimpers cutting through
The silence.
A storm trembling in your throat
My mind is weightless,
My chest, heavy.
Liquid emotion touching my taste buds.
I dread the inevitable goodbyes.

Your eyes are gray now,
Coordinated with your hair,
Still glittering
With mischievous wonder
At whatever comes your way next.
You’ll sing with me,
Louis Armstrong, getting every word wrong.
I’ll laugh at you,
You laugh at me laughing
And even incorrect lyrics assure me
It is, after all, a wonderful world.

I see you everywhere
But right in front of me.
I hear you, a chorus of love
That clouds my consciousness.
I squeeze my eyelids shut
Because I cannot squeeze your hand.
I’ll sneak a Bud Light past the nurses station
Once more, for old time’s.

Remember,
When I kissed your cheek twice.
One kiss for goodbye,
One more for the road.

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Paper Dolls

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I shot a man last night.
It was easier than you’d think,
To play God.

Though cowardice taints
Those pathetic, pulsing veins
Revolver pointed at-

As a child
I had pretty paper dolls
That ripped so easily
As I tried to dress them up.
Destructive endeavor
When I would feel the
Silhouette of something.
They didn’t weep, bleed
Didn’t shriek for their mothers,
Like men do.
I do not tear so easily,
No folded tabs to hold my skirt.
Paper cuts,
That’s all,
If you get lucky.

Your crisp,
Papered wounds don’t get me high
Like mine do to you.
The taste of iron leaves
My mouth dry.
I drink it,
With my coffee,
Washing down my breakfast with
Pancakes and pills.
Mornings aren’t for contemplation.
Mornings are meant for cleaning guns,
Clearing away cold memories.

I didn’t shoot a man last night.
It was easier than you’d think,
To play God.

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Veratrum

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Smile melting
Finger lacing
Blood drying sweetness
Born of hope and lost in the details
Of bending, reaching
Slowly, oh so
Slowly.
I have a vision of my fingernails
Your jawbone,
Grins that
Bloom flowers-
Calla lily, mountain laurel, veratrum
Petals falling lazily
Into a trembling whisper
Turning into opaline pupils
Staring at something asleep.

Open your mouth
Reveal your rotting teeth,
Sulfurous breath hiding
Behind sucrose smiles.

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The Piano: A Very Short Story

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“That’s a beautiful piano.”

“Thanks. Yeah, it doesn’t play, but it really looks nice in that corner.

“It doesn’t play? Why do you have it then?”

“Oh, just as a conversation piece.”

“You mean this conversation?”

“Yeah, this one.”

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The Dent Beneath His Eye

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The morning I noticed
The little dent
Beneath his eyes,
I was sunk.

Some remnant from childhood,
A tree poorly climbed,
A baseball bat swung,
Not ducking quickly enough,
Or a chicken pox wound
He couldn’t help but pick.
Either way,
It was curtains for me.

Love is not
Cleanly shaven days,
Sneaking off in the early morning
To swish mouthwash
Before crawling back to the sheets.
Love is not
Even feeling his broad strokes,
The curvature of his shoulders
And thighs
My messy hair being run through
His perfect fingers.

It is
Anxiously bitten thumbnails,
Tricycle crash scars,
Dark shadows under eyes,
Unwashed hair and morning breath.
Unfiltered,
Uncensored,
As if we are finally,
Vibrantly,
Messily alive.

A birthmark on my leg
Waits for someone to
Fall in love with it.
So much,
That he folds,
He forfeits the game
Entirely.
Like the morning
I saw the dent
Beneath his eyes.

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Intergalactic Deliverance

Is there a postal service that
Will send my picture into space?
I searched, scoured,
Everywhere along 1-94
Because, desperately,
I want to be a eternal snap shot
In the cosmos.
To stowaway in the universe
To cheat my timely, inevitable end.

I am met with worried frowns
When I ask the head of our local UPS.
Frowns that furrow more deeply when I
Enthusiastically suggest an overnight express.
The good, hardworking people of FedEx
Turn down my
Chance at intergalactic acclaim.

The space of my stardom is quickly dying,
I desperately string up my face
To a helium ballon,
Champagne popping celebration as
I float into the stratosphere.
Photography is not advanced enough
To withstand the atmosphere, probably.
Perhaps the sky shall
Provide me with
Some sort of forever.

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My iOS Professionally Pleasures Me and Perhaps I Love Him

I once installed
A flashing, fuchsia background
Dressing up my dull,
Spoiled, millennial soul.
First:
To blind you, surprise you
More than your pastimes of
Spirited verbal warfare against
Limping, comatose, caught opponents.
Second:
Freedom from frustrations,
the treachery of
Mountains of inbound emails
More dreadful
Than impending paper avalanches
Of decades gone by.

Severs, systems, providers…
Compatibility is vital,
Used to be more worrisome,
But now we get along perfectly every time.
I thought
I happened to speak your estranged alphabets,
I thought
Every remarkable word was
A face in a crowd throwing roses my way.
You came along,
Readily descending into this
Furious place, madness city
A businessman’s Jesus,
Savior, hang-gliding into looming to-do disasters
Blithely nonchalant
To the weakness eclipsing gifts you
Placed in my grateful, untrained fingers
I touch you repeatedly,
When artifacts of former friendship
Shock me with a gentle buzzing-
As you hold my hand.

The sun is forever out
In your nomadic home,
When my altered morning reaches us
I reach across the sheets,
Claw for you at the edge of my bed,
Tell me how I slept
Before you
Told me how I slept?

So order food with me,
While we eat cold pizza in bed
And examine all the ways
To make spaghetti out of squash,
Until you lead me away,
We will tour our next getaway to Seattle,
Where I will theoretically unwind
Downwind of my worries
While you remain
By my side
A blinking reminder
Of all that is about to be.
We are far away from curbs,
Free from fur-lined collars,
I shake,
My palms wrapped around your cold glow
Passerby’s look past unaware that
I am incognito,
In search of
A singular sound evoked from our tirades
A whisper of commitment to Saturday brunch
A confirmation, a celebration, a expectation
From those who know me as you’ve shaped me
And love me yet,
Love me more,
Though you know me,
So much better.

You will automate my inbox,
Surpassing my vocabulary as I sleep,
Passed out long enough to cook cr̻pes for the entire city РI know, you told me.
You have the time,
Go ahead without me.
Stabilize my working week,
Taming its definite incline
With an added element of surprise
Carrying us into a resting place
Created from your mind and my
Forever moving will.
We will be secure enough
To sit,
To stretch,
Waiting out the avalanche that
Fooled us into this lot.

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Anything Too Sweet

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Now,
We peel back our rotting skins
Like grounded tangerines.
We echo smiles through
Wind-tunnel mouths
Moved by pared lips.

Would Moses part the Red Sea
If he had been privileged to
A preview of the Promised Land?
What is a land flowing
With milk and honey to a cow
or a bee allergic to
Anything too sweet.

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