Paradise’s Foundling

He had commandeered her laptop for research, now stood appraising his creation. Absentmindedly stroking his beard, grey clay peppered its salted whiteness. She found him in her workshop, "What on earth?" her voice trailed to a deep silence. "I know, it seems like a replica, but maybe this time -" Baba Yaga shook her head, … Continue reading Paradise’s Foundling



is it better to call them little white lies? white?as if this is pure or innocent but none of this is cleansingit spares no one something they couldn't bearto hearbecause they already knowbut pretend deafness for wounded pridechild-like petulance of egotistical needto be rightin so many wrongs this isn't about protection or trying to be … Continue reading currency

om this moment

to appease the gods?they must be crazy - I am but one in a sea of divisions aspiring to nothing - ommm I slip into the slow dance drift, a drizzle of snow, baby flakes, smaller than a pinkie finger's nail of a child of 3twirling in the pale butter cream sunlighta tapestry in motion … Continue reading om this moment

The Mistresse – parts 36-40

The Mistresse Hell’s Angel or Heaven’s Devil? By stealth of night, in the darkest hours, or by sun’s brilliance, The Mistresse Is. Death? Longing? Desire? Lust? Prowler? Predator? Yearning? Prayed upon. Called forth. Brought down. Lifted up. She Is. And yet, she is the unnameable on the tongue’s tipping of scales. ( erasure poem/journal entry … Continue reading The Mistresse – parts 36-40

clear-cut the heart

it's a caviar ribbon, wending a dream sequencewrapped around a finger (like a band-aid)precious sea-beds to tip the tongue electricthese salty knobs on the cuspis it precocious to consume an ancient song - (is this weird, -eating the eggs of another species) auric yolk sings golden, but not with gusto as a soft-winged wind blows … Continue reading clear-cut the heart

She seamed herself differently –

She was auric, seamed herself into the dusky gold nugget fabric of the wing-chair, lost for her scarecrow thinness in the plush velvet. Sitting across from me, she twisted her fingers as if they were petals, but her nails were ragged, cuticles torn, ringed in copper red. I knew her once, when she was bright, … Continue reading She seamed herself differently –

High Notes Soar

He had no use for his father, hard-bitten railroad slag, abusive as coal's blackness, and as gritty as the grease he wore as skin. As a child in shadows, he'd watch the shunting of cars from the roundhouse, feeling the deep rumblings of the engines in his chest, as the steam's heat mimicked his father's, … Continue reading High Notes Soar