Time and Again

Time and again you flashed a blue smile. You were eaten by hunger. The coffee store around the corner filled you with apologies. You sat there with your hands cupping milk, a checkered scarf twisted around your summer neck.

It was an island of indecency. Department Head of Justice, a short elderly with receding ears, stopped by to order chocolate flavored oranges. He had wood-rimmed glasses and cherry lips that talked only of chipmunks and housing prices. He dissuaded you from paying.

The grocery girl next door passed by only once in two weeks. She wore dangling earrings and purple eyelashes. Her teeth smelled of enamel. Flaxen hair shaded pink fluttered to the wind, printing sunlight into your eyes. They reflected a bouquet into little Jamie’s translucent crystalloid, as she peered nervously through the semi-opaque backseat car window, her hands pressed onto the sides of a yellow schoolbag.

Then from across the street came the businessmen in polished shoes and moustache. Dark hair parted in the middle and combed back to shield their baldness, they came in swarms, never venturing an investigative look at you behind the coffee store window. Cologne forestalled the stench of leather briefcases. When car beeps ceased and the street turned clean, a late engineer trotted by with blueprints flying.

landscape-at-krumau-1916Two university students strode hand in hand, eyes adrift and unstopping by the traffic lights. The boy tossed a slack of brown hair back, dazzling you with closely-set teeth. Jamie capered with light feet and quivering eyelashes, yellow handbag dangling at her shoulder. The grocery lady hugged her with nails painted blue, pink hair faded into a loosely fastened knot.

Night descended and neon lights flashed green. The short-sighted elderly with cane in hand glanced at the coffee store without heeding you. Footsteps thundered, the pop star in sunglasses checked the window for reflection. Shiny coverall and explosive hair cleared the dull of your eyeballs, the guards clustered in black and ties. Midnight, traffic lights illuminated darkly veiled troopers carrying coffins for burial. Shadows crept to shield your eyes against the iron rimmed glasses shimmering blackness.

An old man in faded leather shoes and whiskers crouched at the steps. The lady with yellow bowler hat looked into the clouds, unmoving by broken traffic lights. From the grocery store came a capering boy, swift legs wrapped up in striped bib pants. He carried a basket of air, holding sunlight piercing into your eyes. You flashed a toothless grin, time and again.

 

Glory

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About the ashes we gather

eye-to-eye breathing, the nocturnal stained sheets

colorblind and strewn

messy as we marched, as in our dreams:

badge beneath tongue

summer sun drinking the shaded purple

of your beard.

It reminded us of

 

when your eyes were pierced, black hearts flaming

scared even the bullet as the confetti

sucked at your skin,

sucked your skin dry

Gravitated with greater than tectonic love

while

 

our minutes are roaring,

honey hands transmute

primeval horror of Freudian fourmis

Unleashed.

 

(the words dug like stars into you and

into you)

so we spend all night dancing, sipping

away dreams

black eyes bleached as we write

of Glory, as in

our dreams.

My Sister

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My sister with the voice of stone.

My sister with the heart of seasonal raging.

My sister with the forehead of a bald snow-kissed savanna

of alabastrine dust on top of alabastrine dreams. 

My sister with the voice of an elongated pipa string

With the face of the innocuous flesh of deer

Dripping original sin. 

My sister with lips of crooked saturated bacon strips over 

crooked teeth the color of ivory bread.

My sister with eyes of the ashes of rosewood. 

My sister with lashes of steel cutting, of

black rain of dry soot and bullet. 

My sister with the hair of a thousand eyes falling

With feet of scurrying mice and

breasts of a prehistoric vessel.

My sister with the heart of a monsoon cuffed to a tree. 

My sister with eyes of tallgrass of the unintentional poison of inarticulate executing. 

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My sister with hair the color of sun a shade of iron green more radiant than smile. 

My sister with the eyes of shotgun. 

My sister with the lips of twisted fire, of print upon print of leaves dead and reviving. 

My sister with the toes of scabs black and red dripping

My sister with invisible hands of invisible dreams

the other day I saw her they were hid behind sleeves the texture of her forbidden teeth. 

My sister with the face of denatured geometry

her eyes the color of triangles and 

her chin elephants white rising. 

That Evening Rain

That night you stole nail polish from the back of my mind,

Rain sucked us in

like a gigantic whirlpool of not-being

and we weaved.

 

Dust landmarked the root of your brows.

Some fourth-dimension force, a thread

to whose gravitation we are defenceless.

We danced to a song of nineteen eighty four.

 

Nutrition facts plastered your Instagram page full.

We drew circles around the edges of time

lest children should fall, playing some game

in a big field of rye.

 

August dumped clouds in a bucket of Fall.

You left us

listening to some songs of nineteen-eighty four.

Rain faded but never died.