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scars [Jan. 23rd, 2012|06:18 am]

the Devil is in the details, They say.

maybe the ugliest scars are formed

in the irrelevant

parts of

a tragedy, the moments like

faded pictures you can't find strength

to throw away.

the scars we See:

some tiny pock on an elbow,

or a raised white line across an ankle perhaps,

almost invisible, we trace

again, and again, and again

with searching eyes, fingertips, minds,

it's a funny sort of superstition.

the ones that never heal, i think, are always tied to the worst moments

these tiny bumps always find a way

to catch

on something(anything)

a zipper, a bracelet, a stocking.

the silent mouths on our bodies whisper

"you may not forget.”

scraped knees and dizzy first kisses, perhaps

are the mysterious constants that move life forward,


the funny thing, i guess, the enchantingly hilarious part,

is that the scars that loom gray and purple and pregnant

with shadows, so striking to the beholder,

are invisible to others in the sun.

most of our darkest scars are hidden

beneath clothes or

buried beneath infinite topography of human skin

speckled with freckles, moles, blemishes,
kissed with tiny hairs

and textured liberally with more mundane battle wounds;

the thumb-crease from the car-door

the pink and silver sliver

from when the knife slipped slicing something

for dinner on an otherwise lovely night.

the more fantasy-oriented among us may cherish the small pink auras

left behind by spider bites.

battle wound enthusiasts, breathless

on ravishing delightful adventures

caress them for good luck like




coveting the blush of a hickey on dewy skin.

a girl like that always stands out,

tiny child on the cusp of womanhood

faint smile glowing through her adopted aloofness

and too much makeup.

her fingers move over a blotch

of skin hidden by cheap concealer,

or fumble with the fold

of her flatteringly tight turtleneck,

and for an instant,

the sleeping vixen wakes up

and looks out through eyes still clouded with sleepy innocence.

no matter how clueless, plain,


or even flat out unappealing

the boy was,

the memory is sweet. Sometimes,

imagination does play a part.

a woman can't survive unless

she reminds herself

of the excitement, the urgency, the danger,

and the heat

that marked her as its own.

Somewhere, in the surge of hormones, wants, needs,

a rare thing is created;

a memory encompassing all sensual and emotional aspects of fulfillment,

every smell,

each shadow in stark light,


the ground

beneath your feet.

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(no subject) [Sep. 15th, 2010|05:35 pm]
 the sky tonight,
immense and ink-dark,
makes my head spin when
i look up.
cold wet grass clings to my bare feet
and they itch
you cling to my hand
and i shiver.
in the absence of light,
blanketed in these thick shadows,
it’s easy to imagine
that time is holding still.
we have stood together here
since the world began
and we will remain
until the lightless sky crashes down
against the sticky, vibrant ground.
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(no subject) [Oct. 23rd, 2009|03:25 pm]
 raindrops, rattling fingernails

pattering against the glass, impatient,



-ing as it seeks crevices to enter

eruption of green grass

flare of emotions, allergies,

then there it is again

spring lies belly up

in the rotting heat of summer

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(no subject) [Oct. 23rd, 2009|03:21 pm]
 do you think you don’t know pain?

miles later, surveying the damage,

maybe we’ve made a mistake here.


i made the wrong turn knowing i’d have to keep going,

sinking closer to the ground

letting the heaviness force me

down the throat of the earth

choking as it swallows me whole.

pathetic bullshit, you murmur under your breath

but I can’t hear you over the sound of the

delicately flaring


in my head. 

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(no subject) [Apr. 15th, 2009|12:56 am]
autumn brought creation
the stir of dry leaves,
whispered an awareness
of the fire that would devour

her face was too innocent
full lips, pale rose
to touch the body that held those
breasts, the shape of a woman
cradled the heart of a burning nymph
who watched me through the warm, chestnut eyes
of a little girl.

winter brought awakening
the first icy wind
trailed her fingers down my spine
and for the first time, i knew
that i could feel the seasons.

slender and dark,
she materialized before me
from someplace far away.
she was cold
and i was cold
i wanted to grow warm together,
but time, blind and careless, turned her away

spring brought desire
like nothing i had ever known
each flower blossomed explosively,
spilling intricate seduction.
softness, scent, and shape
put forth only for the bees
spread to touch everything around her

first came the agony of her body
the soft subtle curves of a girl
on the verge of exploding into adulthood.
her sophistication enthralled me,
almost as much as the way
she couldn't help but bite her lip,
blue eyes shining with childlike delight.
in her hands, everything was new again, unusual
the grit of the city where we met
was magical around her.
being torn from her was a strange gift
inspiration like nothing i had felt before
grew where i once felt the forbidden thrill of her touch
as i tasted for the first time
a sadness more beautiful than any joy i'd ever felt.

now the heat of summer,
indifferent, sterile but still filthy,
hardens the petals of spring
driving away the last hints of softness.

i stare down at the dry, cracked earth
willing something new to grow
where crisp leaves rustled around my feet,
frigid wind bit into my cheek,
and for the shortest time,
my hands caressed the only thing soft enough
to teach them to feel the hardness around them.
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A Drunk Poem [May. 7th, 2008|10:48 pm]
i felt
your fists
hard against my body then
your tongue against mine
your hips on my hips
the soft rhythm
sinking in

we stood in the bathroom, i exposed
myself to him
and then
aroused by the absence of nipples,
he followed me
to the couch
where we violently copulated
until my mouth filled with his seed

later we mourned
the death of one long gone
i tamed a wolf cub, and with a shovel
slit the neck of an intruder
who then
shot me.
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Sylvia [May. 7th, 2008|06:22 pm]
you were 8
i was 13
at the time
of the Great Loss

i know how you must have felt
without him, picking up
pieces all alone

scarred, refusing
to heal

how many nights did you
lie awake
wondering if
he'd be back

how many casualties
did this war have?

you made it so far
before you collapsed.
how will i ever
find your strength?
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(no subject) [Apr. 30th, 2008|10:35 pm]
the girl sits(braided hair)
sits(freckled shoulders, sunwarmed)
legs dangling
on the edge
the dock
toes(one wears a ring)
the icy lake


a raspberry on each fingetip
bare feet caressed by wind
she lies in the hammock
leaf shadows veil her face


The wooden swing creaks
with each light sway
and I remember You (plural)
pool of memories
cutting watermelon
sitting in that chair
shelling peanuts
the smell of the dust
the way you did
buy the farm
before you "bought the farm"
Sticky Tennessee summer
seeing those empty rooms
and the cemetery
on the edge of the woods
uneven grass
each blade
aimed for the sky
the swing creaks
for an instant
your smell
raises the hairs
on my arms.
The Smell,
an echo,
is gone.


When I was a child,
You gave me bubblegum
deep voiced
living simply
Your overgrown Eyebrows
fascinated me
as did
your generosity.
You spoke little.

It was a hot summer day
when it finally happened
(we felt it coming)
my skirt was too short and my legs too long
But I mourned.
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(no subject) [Apr. 28th, 2008|09:59 pm]
mossy darkness
clear earthy smell
fills cool air
buried alive
i feel no panic
i've been walking here forever
barefoot in the snow


playful and despised
wicked child
in a tall pale body
you dance circles around me
restrained, i weep


mouthshutting fasttalking breathless
a word a smooth as glass
you become grit
grit becomes you
silver slivers
deep dark blood
on soft skin
and your eyes
your eyes are so pure
beautiful, really
he takes another step
bristle on her neck
a million miles he's come for this
now he'll have it
whether or not it's his
he owns it
tears stream rapidly
heart races
each beat
punctuating sobs
another lapse
a story told too many times
by crying eyes
never mind.


i don't need you
i tell
i wont give in
to this
but when
the cards hit the table
there you are


the murky ground
so fertile
so soft
populated with weeds
petals peek out
from tight green buds
glowing fire colors
spring explodes into being


the smell of wet earth
hangs thickly in cool crisp air
puddles reflect sky


soft murky ground
populated with weeds, petals
peek out of tight buds


mossy dark undulates
cool earthy smell resides in
this tomb, i am alive
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(no subject) [Apr. 23rd, 2008|09:04 pm]
somewhere in between
what i find is beautiful
walls are closing in
suffocation strikes me
air grows heavy


the clock ticks
loud, focused
echoes folded into
the clean single sounds
green eyes wander,
look down
fills this gaping void


i miss missing you
this heart beats for no one
i can breathe again
but the fresh air feels cold
light, empty, my arms
outstretched, longing
for longing.
pain tinged with pleasure ruled me
bitter fruit grew wild
in this now barren field


it rots, buried
deep inside, emitting
an emerald smell
my eyes with gray lace
this heart beats for no one
not for you, dear
not for me
there is no darkness in this place
even the weeds, overgrown
burst with gaudy color
exude the smell of life
the smell of earth
hangs lightly not
in the dark suffocating way
it should


pale skin of
virgin knees
bleeds as if
for the first time
grass stained toes
roughen, c.ling
to dirt
the world is reborn
in a single afternoon,

a thick fuzzy smell hangs
in warm air
yellowed floors tinged with filth
unfold, the tiny stage on which
this drama is performed.
the cleanest little girl
has grit
beneath her nails
skinned knees
and grass-stained toes.
she tastes with a new mouth
small, dirty pleasures
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