Paint stories with your cards
The cups spilled over into the bay
The swords are all stuck in the sun
And the fool has lost her virginity
The tower is tumbling upwards
Over that self-righteous justice
While the wheel of fortune laughs
Into the face of the moon
Don't come into the house
There's no place to put your shoes
Besides, they're all down at the bar
Throwing back drinks in all their glory
You're a mystery with red lips
Waiting in the backyard for the dogs
The clock hands spin past that ocean
Between the edge and the hour hand
The wet ridge flows and falls near the span. The wet makes the wood dark and weak. I cross the span on bare feet with my tough soles. The stiff skin bends on the rocks and grass as I walk next to the trees.
The bark peels off in my hands and it sits in my palm. I watch the wood die in my hands. Then I crane my head back to search the branch sky. Fade the blue and add streaks of dull brown. Mix it with hints of spring green high in the sky. Buds of red and faint pink poke their keen heads past the branch out in to the air. They show how to be full of life and drink the sun.
My feet sink in the foam of moss. Scant sun to reach
A sister and brother swung on the swing set in the back yard, and each reached the opposite apex at the same time she stared at the ground while the wind floated secrets upon the current.
The brother said, dont the swings like it when we push them into the sky, and skip through the air with eyes that glitter in the buttercups?
I am the minute hand tallying the hours of uselessness, said the sister.
The brother said, does all grass die around our feet from the colors in our soles that blind the photosynthesis into hibernation down in the dirt to the upside down anthill?
I am building a tumbling clock tower where the n
Paychecks and bills
Accruing loans
Political parties
Browsing apartments
Full-time jobs
Spontaneous plans
Housing deposits
Term papers
Jam sessions
Cigarette butts
All-nighters
Philosophical debates
Cranberry vodka
Miles from home
New friends
Balanced tuition
Summer breaks
Going insane
Entropy takes everything away
Nothing is left but in the time it takes
to create
Something becomes the other without
thought
It changes faster than a blink yet it
remains the same
Same face, different appendages
Those fingers turn into dreams of life
Images of empty children searching
for everything
The search is in vain because everything
dissolves upon the tongue
It tastes like oranges bakes in the sun
Yet it is not the sun you see
It is the star that germinates inside
the stomach
Pulsing through the veins, eliminating
the whiteness in your cells
It scours the soul until the edges are
clean
Though the entirety is stil
She spreads the white icing with precision
but never too thin. Round the outside, the
butter knife slides over the layers, coating
the cake. Therapy for the heckled woman
welding the dull blade on the pure sugar.
Her wrist curves, bends to the variations in
contour. Changes position, adds more icing.
Sides are done, moves to the top to continue.
Sweeping, back and forth to completion,
then inscribes a name for the recipient.
Returns to the tub of the icing, some remnant
spoon lick but it is finished. The empty
tub is scraped clean and buried in the trash