Friday, May 22, 2009

Drawing a Bulletproof Blank

You may say I’m cliché,
but I hadn’t.
I’d never felt anything like it.
Not nauseous--
Likened to a rampant bull
or gummy bear mutiny,
the feeling was boiling but ~sticky~
--intrinsic and enveloping
as though it would trade my life for its freedom.
The feeling,
a noun in its own right—a feeling without being felt,
swirled inside me,
slippery and suffocated,
in a crooked stream.
And as the stream fell from horizon to sea
>From Sky’s boundary to Earth’s edge<
I relished the sexist* salamander.
*the salawomanders get no credit at all.
The blue diamond on his forehead,
The slime slipping through my toes
like yolk from a wounded eggshell.
"Oh jeez,"
you colloquialize.
"This is going to be interesting."
Like a Floydian opera echoing
echoing against and among grotto walls,
the feeling had a purpose but no home
a corner laundromat but no clothes.
The feeling stemmed from a void:
“When someone enlists another’s specific skills
to fit their specific need, they __________ them.”
“It may start with c-o-n? or c-o-m?”
“I could do so much more if only I knew a verbose welder.”
-This missing word-
the one I could not grasp,
could not explain well enough to take hostage
(duct tape, anyone?)
consumed any faith I had in a seventeen-year vocabulary,
a three thousand-year language.
But, after all,
Desperation is the English way.

[Literary Magazine final 2009. In a couple days I'll italicize the words and phrases I was asked to use according to the prompt. I earned a 105%. Word.]

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Sparkle Sparkle

when birds dreaded ocean trash
as smog plagued fish
when people lived on seas
and drank the earth
when the moon blinded children
hoping to colonize the sun
she climbed back up the slide
and fell into the sky.

the stars we wish upon
stare back
and gently hum,

"Sparkle sparkle, little one
how I wonder how you've done
down below me don't you cry
I've been with you
by and by."

["Write me a poem!" :) This is from last August. I'm so sorry it's belated.]