
The glory of the passing Shared among the weak Claimed by the strong Hold it up with pride Bear witness to this Ignore as my mouth fills With the …
Empty, Within

The glory of the passing Shared among the weak Claimed by the strong Hold it up with pride Bear witness to this Ignore as my mouth fills With the …
Empty, Within
Move on, we must.
In boxes and bins,
I carry my proxy love
to the Stow-Away garage.
Outside,
the smirking cat has his wild bones on,
drawing a bead on a tattered squirrel
that curves down a dead-bowed limb.
Night
In the lush bush,
there’s something that laughs.
Treed,
in a frightful dream it lolls,
fetching cheshire smiles.
~Move on~
the blue man says,
and we must.
I must.
But, there is no donkey tail to pin.
I’m blind, as i finger the braille
on this pincushion map.
***
Art work by Theophile Steinlen – Chat au Claire de Lune (from Pinterest)
The sun’s in streamers
Caloric redeemers
Limbic in their sway
Iambic in their deepened beat of day
Stop chewing on stones
for they will soon turn to teeth
and heighten your pain
Lose face in poltergeist’s mirror
We drive in stilted silence
How high the corn?…I venture
I knew
A girl who batted her eyelashes
One who touched me
and had a tinkling laugh
One who stood tearless
by her husband’s coffin
then cried
when we joined hands
One who was
the most alive person
I had ever seen
And one who told me things
you should not hear
An apprehension
of not knowing the next move
An assumed word
left out
that should have been there
The world goes cartoonish
Walk with me
for I may not know the way
Talk with me
for I know not what to say
Do not trust me
anymore
for I am poor
and I watch a different show

Geoffrey sneezes on my face as I bend to give him the kiss he’d pleaded for. My sassy four-year-old, my fourth child, has always been demanding of my…
Fight for Me by L.T. Ward
Down
Down seven steps
Seven depths of dream
to flypapered halls
where you meet
the man with the flagon
He fills vials of venom
One you must drink
for it will take you
through Mandelbrot sets of madness
Up, up, and through
to the white dwarf
of bright morning
This, by K-Ming Chang, in The Jellyfish Review.
Asymmetry
I cut my mother’s hair every month since her hands went wild. They’re rabid, boomeranging around the room, returning every touch twice as hard, slapping her face when she’s asleep, ambushing mosquitoes, crawling under the sofa like rodents. I cut her hair shorter in the front than in the back. She likes asymmetry, the unevenness of things. She claims that’s why she fell in love with my father. He had one eye that was double-lidded and one that was single-lidded, one smaller than the other, which my mother called long-feng yan. Dragon-phoenix eyes. A sign of good luck. Eyes like coins, like currency, spending themselves empty. Every month, I spray my mother’s hair from the roots to the tips, trace the cowlick on her scalp, trim away the bleached-brittle ends. Unlike her, I prefer symmetry. I cut my own hair in a bob so abrupt that my friends call me…
View original post 340 more words