• With Feeling commented on the post, tousled 6 years ago

    Your hair, this morning, turned gold by the sun. My hands reaching for you, the need to touch, to hold. You: soft skin, blue veins like rivers underneath. Your eyes moving in twitches and rolls under your eyelids, chasing some dream-sight. My head on your chest, listening to you breathe from the inside.

  • Yesterday I woke up
    and realized
    that I exist.
    You were sleeping beside
    skin and bones and muscles and
    all breath and mass and
    small movements
    and my heart was beating
    in my wrists and temples
    the texture of your skin
    on my skin
    almost too much to

    as tightly as I curled
    into myself
    organs…[Read more]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, charge 6 years, 11 months ago

    He has this
    strange sort of cynicism
    The kind that allows for hope
    [but not the word itself].
    In his mind
    he is the monk,
    the self-sacrificer.
    He leads the charge against injustice
    and he fights the demons […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, shown 6 years, 12 months ago

    There are things hidden
    under blankets, under skin
    in that space between muscle and bone.
    Things that shine
    and scratch;
    sharp-edged things
    winged things
    caught in the sinews.
    That is the […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, upper 7 years ago

    In the upper reaches of the atmosphere
    there is a cold, cold wind blowing.
    And oh, it chills the bones
    and makes them brittle
    and that is why we break
    so easily.
    When we fall from the sky
    [through […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, happy 7 years ago

    Reaching, reaching out.
    And the harder you clutch at it,
    the more it will struggle
    The more it will scratch at your arms
    the more it will skitter, hissing, away.
    The trick is to ignore it.
    Then, like a […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, before 7 years ago

    Before the storm, they had lived in a small red house with a small blue door and ivy climbing up the side. There was an orange cat who had decided he belonged to them, or perhaps they to him, and would come to the […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, begin 7 years ago

    The imaginary gunshot slices into the morning chill and her legs are moving and stretching, sinuous. Lungs and ribs aching to hold enough oxygen.

  • With Feeling commented on the post, alive 7 years ago

    As the breath rushes to escape her lungs, her eyes open as if for the first time. Suddenly she can feel. There- see how green the trees, feel how soft the grass. Everything moving together, breathing in and out in […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, fried 7 years ago

    The first and most important thing is the heat. They say heat is suffocating but this heat is different, dry, creeping pleasantly down my back. My skin is too white and I can feel it slowly cooking but the […]

  • And as his face contorts, seemingly in slow motion, Anna feels her lungs inflate and deflate. This will end the same way as it has before, she is sure. She makes a decision. There will be no more of this, she says […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, sustain 7 years, 1 month ago

    Hands and legs and arms, entwined, clinging. Gasps of breath. Finger pressure says I Won’t Let Go. Don’t Go. WIlling happiness and energy and the will to live into you, but skin gets in the way. The barrier is too […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, miracle 7 years, 1 month ago

    Oh, my fingers are searching every crack and crevice. Dust creeping in under fingernails. Plumes of oldness and neglect puffing themselves out into my face. Where is it? This is the true definition of miracle: to […]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, covered 7 years, 1 month ago

    drowning. Breathe;
    under the covers
    it’s always darkest
    when you need
    the most
    [They say we’re naturally buoyant but I don’t believe it]

  • With Feeling commented on the post, key 7 years, 2 months ago

    It sits sharply in my palm, sticky with sweat and memories, and I know from the feel that it will taste of rust and iron and forgotten things. The hard edges catch at my fingers as I lift it to my mouth, and open […]

  • This word is the same as yesterday’s
    maybe this place doesn’t ever change, maybe
    we’re stuck in some sort of
    time vortex, maybe
    we’ll never escape, not until our skin is
    plastered to our bones,
    and then […]