turkishangora98

Chasing bitter relics of a decade passed, Six weeks, six weeks and four days-- How could love be so pernicious? Subduing inner thoughts channeled to another Lifting the worn expression and sullen gaze of time. My dull feet, two sleeps My white hands unfurled at my sides, Twin doves, as meek, as trembling And utterly useless to myself and my disposition. Take them already, I wouldn't mind. I have already endured a more insidious theft, The burglar having crept in while he thought I was sleeping. With such care he lifted the latch, Removing the window screen from its track without a sound. He extinguished the lamp and sat quietly for a while. H

Cut the cord if you want to be free Rape the self and leave it to bleed And cry its tears, countless beers All new fears from the mouth of the bottle Little smokes bought for a quarter and a dime Put your savings up your nose, up in smoke Tie the noose and hope to choke this time Who was it that sold you that little line? You’re shook, halfway down Grand Avenue Tempted to dial what numbers you know Instead light a Winston and split a pill Under the yellow flickering lights of the 7-Eleven bathroom with its cracked sink and ashes Counting the tiles on the floor that blur, twist and recede On a triple dose of pilfered speed, unable to see

Headlights in the snow trace over faint footprints, The light catching on to what I’ve peddled. The naked black arms of dozen oak trees Reach for me, for you, and I look up at the sky. What do you want from me, I want to know There are no answers in the late winter quiet The hum of a motor on Ingersoll Avenue The taste of you in my mouth, things I can’t explain I’ve stretched this skin, cut it down to size Watched myself come undone with great precision. I don’t know what I expected—an ending story Like an obituary, that might build a shape? Raw air bites at flushed cheeks and you dare to smile Knowing I can̵

Butter yellow light, early morning sun Half-expected news and folded arms. Waking up to neutralized realizations Waste the time, take my time, and I know now The light spills like water, I’m somebody’s daughter And there is still tomorrow, or so you claim I do not understand you or the words of wisdom You sow to these dumb deaf swine Oblivious and complacent bathed in the blue Of the omnipresent TV set and its static hum And speaking for the sake of sound, that creation. The news that I should have expected knocks me To the ground, grasping and rasping for breath Reaching for a lower landing or some remark To ease myself into the

The clock strikes midnight and chimes twice Streetlights streaming in through the open door Sound of a motor and desert wind outside Snuffing out silence and my lipstick-tipped cigarette. The moment is fading already, I am exhausted I must sleep for a week, I must sleep for a year I never sleep, never slept, will never sleep again. The inoculation of the mind’s eye, pumped with Solution to the self-imposed problem, memory Lobotomized, body having once fallen victim Shake your head, call a friend, never again. You do not call anyone. The phone is left unanswered. The year is new, fresh start, restart, moving on Or so you thought, until m

This story begins with a brick apartment building on Ingersoll Avenue on a bitterly cold winter night in December, a northern wind biting flushed faces and scattering snow. It begins in the apartment building on Ingersoll Avenue because that is where he stood, balanced on the varnished wooden steps in the warm entryway illuminated by flickering fluorescents. There will be no introductions here, because none is needed. You need not know about the narrator, as I am a mere observer, just as you are. My identity, my background, my relation to the individuals in this story is irrelevant to the story itself. She entered the apartment building wit

You crossed the street, sunshine on Sunnyvale Drive Glaring brilliant yellow sun, arid desert earth Spitting up Joshua trees and debris every few yards And passed the stranger in the Nissan that you knew. Oh, everyone was laughing at you then Dressed in three dollars’ worth of clothes and a grim smile Face tight and resolute, talking to empty cars and walls Looking for someone whose name changed every hour A new description formulated, missing person Make the goddamn report, won’t you, I haven’t the time. One day it will come back to haunt you, these rote repetitions Circling round the block once more and stopping in the cor

Brown paper leaves making their slow descent Curved by the wind as we are, irrevocably, by time. The cold bites at bare fingers and you resume pacing, Pushed to movement by the abrupt departure, final exit. October. He is gone now. You are unmoved and do not cry. What is there to cry for? Why mourn the loss that you wanted? And you did get what you wanted, what you asked for You all but led him to the door, watching the leaves decay. The sun retreated early, having grown tired of its work, The killer made the papers and the city went cold at night. Life went on, though he swore adamantly that it would not. The earth continued its rotation and

See you in heaven, poison’s gone. See you in heaven or in hell my friend Time is up and I cannot pretend, this isn’t for you I know, and I curled up on the cold tile and tried smile Walked a mile in your shoes and mine, gave in to sleep It isn’t beautiful or dramatic but I did it my way Slumped down cigarette in hand in the quiet And that song we both know by heart playing somewhere Glaring white light flickering above, the rattle of the radiator A truck trundling by, final observations before the last rush. See you in heaven if there is one, more likely hell But we already went there and figured there was nothing to see Tha

I spoke with the surety of the devil I will never speak to You again Professing a phrase, meaningless and void Empty as the bottle I turned to mourn. Defiled and profane, sloughing through the crowd Buzzing with noise and speed, image of excess And You, horribly silent, unmoved by Your creations Dumb and blind, moving feebly toward the final exit Left to hang and thrash about, seventy by seventy Years piling up, a decade of debris, the corner of the eye Will find something to retreat into if it might Another drink, a smoke, and you salivate The weight of days, the ancient of days, begging at the foot Of the imagined throne, thoughts of tempta