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tequilatequila, I had forgotten yourtequila by *scatteredwords
slow burn, silver tumble over tongue,
how you smolder a body from the inside.
Your guileless glissade down to the feet,
a liquored gypsy waltz, I sipped you straight,
Jalisco bottled under agave bloom.
tequila, you stole my breath in a
bar-room haze, falling fast into rhythm
and I couldn't keep up the pace, tequila,
you are just a lash of memories
I cannot quite remember,
soused with an emptiness I'd rather forget.
Haunted closet.He is an apparition in the doorway, black wool coat and hat, the rust-light illuminating the spot behind him. From that angle, he could be either an angel or a demon. I open the door to let him.Haunted closet. by *scatteredwords
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The sky pours liquid into the parched desert floor; the withered plant life outside rejoices so loudly that anyone who bothered to listen would hear it. The steady rush of rain cannot drown out their happy cries.
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I hand him a cup of tea, which he sips without saying a word.
“You’re not saying anything,” he says, tipping back my chin.
“If I don’t say anything, I’ll never say the wrong thing,” I r
you asked me to write your eulogybut darling, do not ask such things of a poet.you asked me to write your eulogy by *scatteredwords
We live with death and feathers
in our bones, and you—
clouds have purpose, and one
is seldom alone in the sky. To
say, smart or handsome or
funny or caring, it is the lid
on the trash, never appreciated
till missing, and you—
undercover smell of well-water
and thick terra cotta clay,
a fallen angel left in smoke-screen
somewhere below the salt, the heart
still beats, and you—
a mythology come-to-life.
Hellion and savior, black-tipped
like raven wings, always more
in the right light
than
cyanidehaving tasted the lastcyanide by *scatteredwords
of it, almond-sweet
over the cautious lift
of tongue, her body depetals;
the floor receives her silk.
2.23.2013When you come home2.23.2013 by *scatteredwords
for the second time,
nettle-scent on your shirt
and a moon gasping
as it sets,
I am ready. This time.
Ready for the door
that slams but never
opens; I hear you
ghost-stepping in the hall
under the blushing
silence of the night.
It has been seven years
since the skull-gray twist
of your smile across
the pavement, and you waited
till now to come to me.
The leaves inhale the breeze,
exhale as they settle.
They move when you do,
and lately you are restless.
edgebut it was not enoughedge by *scatteredwords
to swallow the serpent & end the story here
leather-bound book & sky emptied
of light
a grave dug out, glass prism-prison,
chained to the edge, grass matted & dead
unlit, unholy, holding
an umbrella & still wet from the rain,
two stars reach out
to brush each other
—flicks of light, soft as finger tips—
& detonate
& a moon wishing, just once,
to shine its own perfect light.
devastatei.devastate by *scatteredwords
The trap has sprung.
We are in free-fall,
wordless between open hands.
ii.
I am caged by silence.
To not speak now
is to never speak again.
iii.
Our voices swell and falter.
Halfway to the bottom, we admit
there is a problem.
iv.
My body bends like the
spine of a book. Too much more
and I will crack.
v.
You say there is still
time. We look to the light;
see only eclipse.
rate of firethe sightrate of fire by *scatteredwords
of the black and white
parked in the loading zone
gives me a moment of panic.
The average human
can cover 12 feet per second
and it's at least
300 to your classroom.
Love Poem for a Man Who Doesn't Get PoetryI buy milk as if it is theLove Poem for a Man Who Doesn't Get Poetry by *scatteredwords
most important
thing I have ever done; come home and
lay the bag on the floor
at your feet.
The meaning is lost
on you, a man
who is a snap of clean linen;
no, you prefer strait-line
talk, full-throttle motion.
Not wavering semaphore.
I feel silly with my quiet twist of metaphor,
Darling, Buttercup, My Angry Little Arsonist,
saying your name is the breath between
the waves, your heart
the hungry mouth of the bay.
There is a curve between the me and the you
We waited too long, hoping the pause
would not last forever, but just in case,
we hold hands in the dark.
I had forgotten how to give
this new yearwhen the clock was counting downthis new year by *scatteredwords
I was trying to write a letter
but the hiccups caused my pen to stride
in terrifying leaps across the page.
How I pictured
in those erratic inky tracks
a fawn
that lowers her head
to taste a rare winter green
and pauses, then,
to glimpse upward at the night sky
and wonders, for a brief
inconceivable moment,
about the nature of her origin
below Zeus, Jupiter, or Hera,
what the future may bring
and all the uncountables in the universe
and that is all I can ask for
in this new year
—to be the fawn that lowers her head,
peers through delicate lashes at the stars,
The Song of the CrowPrelude - The ForgettingThe Song of the Crow by *brassteeth
Out here, far away from our origins, where the stars beat their drums of light across the clear blackness, here in the outer regions of things, where the world pushes into new found spaces, leaving behind unexplained traces of wonder, out here matter vibrates and thickens. Here, the taught web of magic stretches and the miracle of Being becomes thin, so thin it’s almost invisible to us. Almost.
Out here, we forget ourselves.
Inside the noise of the world, we forget that we stood together in different forms at the endless beginning. We lose track of the tiny changes that eons and ages have brought, the minute a
After TuesdayElizabeth,After Tuesday by *brassteeth
I will not live like this anymore.
Not anymore.
There's a small Universe to the West,
that sits idle in Autumn,
I will be there.
Hinged on all sides,
by suicide maples
that fall from the trees like droplets of blood,
and that old Raven
(the blackbird that taught us Canasta
on the lawns by Cedars Lodge,)
he hovers quietly above me there, in the azure sky
like a guardian,
and those two shining moons Elizabeth,
the ones we happened upon
through the windowpanes,
between our screams and shouts last Tuesday night,
in this Universe, those moons weep misty vanillas
across a falling horizon and I am free,
yes, I will
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