Relocating

This blog will be moving elsewhere and I won't be posting the link on this site.

If you'd like to keep reading as this unfolds or be a part of whatever new work lies ahead, please let me know (here) and I'll send you the link via e-mail. I would appreciate it if you kept the link to yourself.

kisses

Capegirl

backward

no new editions.

echo and narcissus

an equanimity of idiocy.

he, poison bloom. she, pollinator.

complacent cloak and dagger discomfort.

the truth or something like it

beware blue pills disguised as red.

umbrellas shook in anger, make wet spots underneath.

erotickle

beneath the covers i am snake. i heat up slowly.

i am still. i wait. i hunger.

i navigate flesh with flicking tongue. i slither down, over, under you, inside you. i move in slowly. rolling waters swirl, wash over me, bulging, whirling, moving hard. i move low. i slide slow. i sense storm. thunder roll, lightning crash, rain-heavy air. first rains on dry earth.

i pulse, breathe ions, i hiss. i slice through it. i lash myself to you, clasp your thighs with mine. you are sanctuary. we are heavy, we are clotted cream thick, birth warm, blood sticky, dream fluid. you are sea, you are totem. we are smudged. flames lick, spill over. we are crest, we are trough, we are nipple we are muscled thigh.

it may be time to use a little bit of fang.

soul teacher

the girl knew that he had moved her. that his hand had closed around her heart, like lilies over tiny ghost frogs.

he is here in the dilation of her pupils, in the photograph she places in the drawer, in the silences and the laughter. in the sweet sweat that collects along the beads of her spine and in the way they look at each other across smoke-filled rooms filled with people who watch them and know.

the way they look at each other. the way they look away.

illuminations

around and around my shower a jade dragonfly flies, and i, in my underwear trying to stop it from braining itself on the wall. "out here!" say I, using my arms to guide it towards the window. but, no, confused and alarmed it flies in circles, frantically hovering around the light. shivering now, i switch off the light. into the hallway it flies. "more light!", "more light!" it cries. and i, humbled, in my panties. agree.

waving hands

"goodbye!"

"goodbye!"

they said,

"goodbye!"

then turned around for a final farewell that led them once again to

"goodbye"

my fictional self and i

pistols at dawn.

what you want to hear

tonight, with a body that's seen too much sun, too much english toffee frozen yoghurt and entirely too much loving -. i pull the covers up to my nose and hoist my pajamas hoodie over my head. you'd think to keep things from getting in? if you're me, you'd know it's to stop things getting out. i leave just enough space for breathing.

even so

sometimes, someone, writes so slowly, so gently on your heart, that the little heart pieces begin to mold themselves into something resembling wholeness. sometimes by the time you've realised, the only thing you can do is gaze into the distance. and smile.

to answer your question

sometimes, a heart has broken many times.

in this case when the boot heel hits there is nothing left to break. each severed piece has formed into many separate entities. like a gecko growing a new tail. many hearts instead of one. many ways to love. many ways to grieve. it then becomes easy to walk away from big, black boots.