fox on the prowl
The KeyHere stands a door.
You try to turn the knob.
Here stands a problem.
The door is locked.
There on the outside, you stand.
There on the outside, you don't understand.
Here on the inside, is me.
Here on the inside, is where I don't want you to be.
This door is a great divide.
You were never one for distance and time.
You pick the lock, that's no way to live.
You pick the lock, to selfishly force your way in.
But force is something I don't take too kindly.
As well as the manipulation, your poisonous lying.
And you always say it doesn't make sense, I don't make sense.
When you're the one to ask the you-just-crossed-the-fucking-line questions.
There you kneel, on the other side.
You place your hand on the door, softly reassure
If I let you in, if I let you try
You can make the wrongs, right.
There on the outside, you think you know you get it.
There on the outside, you wait to never be let in.
Here on the inside, is me.
All the broken bits, every recovering piece.
Here on the inside, I hide
k.n., ii7 9 13 he took a bow overlooking interstate 680:
car-comets in full spin,
his dreams planetary, saturnian -
he almost sprouted wings that night and
i cannot say it would not be beautiful;
the palpations of downtown pumping
luminous cells, coursing
through highway veins
and he, standing in the heart of his world
mind ecstatic -
his feet began
to lift just a little.
9 20 13
a few phone calls
and a pair of
fathersi never again want to wake up and find
that someone else has gone in the night.
when i was 8, my father’s body decided
it was no longer vital, so it stopped
giving him signs, instead, a fistfight
he didn’t survive. i only ever succeeded
in burying him at the back of my mind.
at 16, when my brother drives home
at midnight, i fear a car crash,
i fear him closing his eyes, so i never do.
i don’t want him to be awake late alone,
so i sit up in bed until he gets home.
i can sleep when i’m dead, but neither of us
is ready for that yet.
are my architect, for when it felt like
our world had ended, it was you who stood
to save us from the wreckage,
from all the nothing that came of everything
our father built. it was you who stirred the dust,
who laid the floor on which we found our footing,
you who built the bridge from his life
and what came after.
faded from our days like a distant figure
through a window in the rain;
i am your bad weather daughter
Church spire, stretching,
weds the moon.
and a heavy heat;
steeds of elven knights,
armoured all in blue.
upon orange glass:
a specimen, fossilised
veined in gold—
fallen like snowdrops.
Eagle in flight,
great wings cradling
peeking from a soft,
smoky grey duvet.
The world settles;
the heavens awaken—
two arrows in tandem.
The yellow of an
crinkled paper moon.
Tangled in old web—
a spider, noosed.
of a smudged landscape:
pot of molten gold
along the treetops.
The Salesman SpeaksTerrible fate, this
Having to wear certain masks
Of dead men's faces
Alright, here's a deal
The imp from the woods, he stole
Majora's Mask, shame
You bring it back, boy
I will turn you to normal
Is it not simple?
Now listen to me
Please play my song, remember
What follows meetings
But are partings of all kinds
Now me must depart
...But not for ever
Please, do hurry and find it
Before evil wakes
Believe in your strengths
You'll be fine, don’t worry
I’m counting on you
Things I would Tell Her--C.I want to tell her the things
I'll tell her when she’s older,
but the information terrifies her.
In order of importance:
she has luna moths in her head,
monarch butterflies in her stomach,
and a feral fetus in her womb.
are collapse-clasped and folded
in her lap;
she holds her elbows like wings
away from her ribs,
ready to flap,
I want to tell her
to keep one hand in her purse
so she can always find her keys,
to keep an eye on the door
and the door always open
so she can run if she doesn't feel safe,
but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch red
and the tension in her shoulders
warns me she's not ready
to hear this.
And there is the possibility that
maybe I’m not ready to tell
I’m just as devastated as her;
that she is surrounded by friends and family
who are violated by a community
where no man can say yes all men.
*Simple Pleasure*Cloud nine beckoned me
Happiness captured my mind
Spiri-ku I (fr/en)Et le vent du désert
sur les rêves qu'essaiment
And so the desert breathes
fanned by our flames
Frantz, novembre 2013.
My Thoughts Are Like BirdsMy thoughts are like birds;
precious in their cages, yet
forgotten when freed.