“Would you believe it if someone told you I was the daughter of Mark Ruffalo?” “Why?” Because there’s a little girl in me that died too fast. She burned to ashes and rose into an adult, a guardian for her brother and the family dog. For so long, “dad” was synonymous with “damned.” Everyone asks […]
Golden warmth, earthy scents
/Exuberance in every brush /stroke, a tactile kind of /sensuousness
/Enveloped the woman…
Your skin has a special kind of /supple like a
/Plum taut with ripeness that one /pinch is enough
/To induce rapture…
Before it gets too convoluted let us backtrack and go back to counting
/One,
/Two,
/Threes…
Crumbly old wounds infested by /breeding beetles
/Shards of chandelier and wine /glasses and glass plates lodged /into her yellowed wedding dress…
soil.
My mother told me I could never let go of a baby pink comb. /An aeroplane skimming over a cloud, soft as the foam of milk…
google:
/is it strong enough?
/this is a transatlantic
/call…
This is my first murder and I need a smoke. Homicides in New Woods are as rare as snowfall in Jamaica. I spend most days at the office listening to a tinny Nina Simone on my Nokia and finding new smoking spots by the police station. The newspaper here is incredibly thin; lost cat articles […]
these cobblestone streets
/are clunky beneath me.
/something doesn’t sit right
/but it all looks so
/beautiful…
The vague, open broadness of abstract emotions — love, envy, loneliness — makes them slippery subjects to encapsulate in writing. How can one distil or display, accurately, the complexity of something like love in a single text?
i am not let in/just yet.
/the asian receptionist
/chews up
/the seed of my french…
