Very short pieces of writing – prose and poetry
Tonight my anemone skin seethes in the boil of moonlit space, invisible cilia ripple and wave hungry to capture anything. Seldom am I so tightly wrapped in my flesh. Seldom so unable to dismiss it for the carapace I have no use for. Perhaps it is exhaustion or the rare desire for the unknown:...
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The One is an ache ratpacked in the cleave of the heart, shameful secret hope of the reality-adjusted post-modern woman. While we talk of vibrators and nice, tight asses and how sickened we are by sentimentality, the spectre of the One Hovers in the unmentionable dimension of desire like a halo too heavy to...
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The past came back to haunt me in that cliched way it sometimes does: in the form of a note from a stranger notifying me of the death of someone I thought I’d killed off long ago. But you never can, really. The love I had for him is trapped in an airless bottle...
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He feeds me sticky dreams by the spoonful like a wicked tease. He feeds me metal on skin the whispered cut that will not close. He feeds me ice on hot bruises and the terror of his absence. He feeds me absolution in a shot glass kiss straight up. He feeds me the soft...
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I lay cradled in the sand chilled from a long night salt moist sea sucked and I pretended it was your arms, the rumbling ocean echoes of you in my bones. Sometimes I’m sure my love is strong enough to wrench you from sleep in that brittle historic clay like an Adam, somnolent from...
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Cool dark my feet squeak on old cracked tiles and the cat follows, as if I have something to offer besides a whisper. You are not my cat. Contracted with age, there is only so much space in my heart to fit the affections I have accumulated over the years. Tweet
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I love a man full of hollows: the abyss of his past, the hours of silence, the base of his throat were sweat collects on high summer nights. I would not have him complete for all the world. Tweet
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This metaphor scares me. Mechanisms snapped shut in a rash moment, intractable demands and traps, of metal teeth clenched once in spasm, then rusted shut. I love you in living flesh and airy rooms, in the mazes of night and moist, new mornings. Tweet
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Torn between the past and the future sky and earth my body and my mind your embrace and open spaces cruelty and pleasure sometimes I fall apart Tweet
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After the dream devours me, the eyetooth punctures flesh like ripe fruit, taut resistance, a gasp of pain and, then the shocked silence of torn skin. After my pores open as one, relinquishing their burdens on clean sheets that bind and cling now with the pernicious embrace of lovers frightened by loss. After the...
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