Skip to main content

Nostalgia

Eight, maybe nine, young
anyway. dirt and finger nails
twilight morning, furnace dying
late summer, long days, skin
smells of peanut butter and alder
leaves

Metallic penny tastes, toy
airplane, flying silently in
hand, pilot child, soaring over
silence, breath sleep steady

Chipped linoleum, caked mud
darting sparrows, grumbling
four-wheelers, wispy circles
of wind

Barefoot grass with dew

Let children play in their
waking dreams

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Inside

"There's a chaos inside that 'll not die down." Unsteady gale wind whips at hair rips souls from their bones leaving corpses of naked bodies curled and crying, wet and muddy Blackness, sound of breathing a scream that wallows, tares from the intestines spewing brown bile, lead heavy words "You'll not drown in a wake of your own making." Shoving gravel through eye sockets, dreading tomorrow caught in a web of mucus, rotting tobacco leaves, dust of glass sprinkled on tongues Empty bottles of fire sing heavy somber tunes, tumbling off the end of the earth, cutting the heads of goddesses bathing in the stars "Turmoil inside suffocates tomorrow and the next." "I know."
Post a Comment
Read more

Rusty Muffler

My roommate was nearly killed by a rusty muffler. My rusty muffler. It tumbled, and ricocheted off wet pavement right at her She laughed. Brought the broken pieces by hand, said I'd fix it someday Radio's never worked, orange lights illuminate buttons that have no use, they're pretty in the night reflections Broken knobs flick them on and off on and off on and off on and off Before my muffler's attempted murder a chorus of tired pistons, rubber belts, fluid cylinders, mechanical leavers and stuttering window wipers occupied the cabin hall Now there's only a rumbling to be heard beneath my feet, loudest in every gear rattling organs under thin layers of fat It chokes the need for talk We are taken by the roar from place to place, I flick the orange button lights on and off on and off on and off there's need to yell at times "stop it..." I follow the white lines with my eyes until home, the howling dies, our voices are left to fill the void We listen to ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Unknown Person Shot

“This is the path that a Pennsylvanian man took to shoot and kill Magic. There was no justice. There was no reason.” All there are are rows and rows of houses. Like the streets of Selcuk. The wind is blowing a slight dust. The light is silvery and grainy. For some reason there is a kind of music in my head. The beginning lines are being said by a narrator. As if I am part of a movie. Or as if I am the Pennsylvanian man, who's shot Magic. I get to Magic's families house. I met this family before on a mountain. I was on it with Kent. It was an amusement mountain. Only. There weren't any rides. It was all about people hiking up to the top of the mountain and taking anything they could - bikes, moccasins, unicycles, inter tubes, one girl with a blown up dinosaur sitting on a castle with goggles and a mouth guard - Kent was there with me. At the base of the mountain, was a castle like structure that skirted the base of the mountain. There were showers and places for peopl...
Post a Comment
Read more