onthemetro

it's impossible to tell if you're angry or having an orgasm and yet i keep trying because this is the 21st century price we pay for believing in     something            #likelove

Somewhere in the distance, a bicycle bell rang. It was the broken song of old steel long abused by its owner, but the sickly melody reminded her that she was home. In southern Ohio, September was in full swing. The grass of every lawn that ran the length of Claredon Avenue was coarse and yellow in the afternoon light. Overhead, a dense veil of dingy smoke from the stacks of the nearby paper factory drew itself outward to collide with the clouds. The sounds of kids shrieking in jest, a riot of water pistols, and the continual hiss of a garden hose seemed to encircle her. A few feet away, her best friend Renada was disassembling a Fischer Pric

my hair was cropped and wild the day we never met      some seven years ago i thought nothing of your hands or your fingers or your mid-morning yawns i dreamed only of consonants cancer cells, caskets and the ways in which our languages converged now - peering out from behind the open curtain of uncertain symmetry       i think of many things i wonder how these sheets of an imagined night might curve and snake outward along your pillow i wonder if we would wake to find our bodies covered in the grime of words recycled from the minds of our heroes to our gaping human mouths i wonder how you would laugh     (if you would laugh at al

She hadn't called for an exorcism. Counting wide cracks in the speckled ceiling above, she reached eleven as her back sank like lead weight into the mattress. Beads of sweat crept across her fevered head; a red blood flushed to her cheeks; her olive-colored eyes were two puddles of dirty rainwater. The silence that surrounded her was not unlike the tattered blanket she'd folded and tucked in a bottom drawer some ten years before. "How about taking a walk?" he asked, "Fresh air?" Each word was a riot, storming her streets in a rage of sentiment. "Of course I wouldn't," she replied, vaguely aware of the gibberish. Still counting, she imagine

crawling on all meta-fours from yer lazy laboratory to a bed hidden by blankets (yards of blue fabric) suspended above us w/ strings of racing lights we watch cronenberg's films projected on the wall on our backs (bodies bare) tangled together limb by limb lips touching hands touching legs roaming mountains of newly purified flesh & pretty faces i am arrested in the nite by an unfamiliar feeling - wrists cuffed w/ the cool steel of unsentimental veins now pumping fresh blood to the withered heart that has wasted away in the center of my chest forcing breath into my blackened lungs returning to the room w/ words lik

in his voice i hear a westbound train              whistle-blowing subtle lapses/ broken bonds of a love longsince inspired loud & clear like well-timed explosions of solitude we are breaking our own rules & staying up late & holding our breath to taste mere seconds of       that wicked dreaming life we built on cool cement & blistered skin i am hurling myself further into summer i am trudging thru his wintry mirage i am steel & brass & satin     body screaming SOUND! & suckle praying to be played in his voice i hear a dinner bell ringing    calling me home for meals of pomegranates sugared palindromes & unc

gm, strike my last remark, as well: my new favorite word is typochondriac. i can offer no clarification as to why i am about to unleash this ridiculous mess into this little white box, but i'll preface enough to let it serve as a warning (an apology, as well). it could be that eight unsuspecting human creatures and a terrified teen are now dead and ready to be buried in what i safely assume will be the cemetery i pass nearly three times a week (a popular omaha resting spot). i think about death a lot on those walks. it could also be that i'm not feeling well and wishing you were here and trying to marinate on that for all it means/has mean

i was born w/ a wedding band wrapped around my tiny finger and on it was engraved: to anyone who'll have her twice divorced at twenty four and tied to a broken typewriter i sometimes wonder if god had a good hard laugh the day he pulled me up from hell to announce my new beginning i imagine him holding me high above his head a translucent ball of rage and fearful indifference and hallelujah'd he had found another orphan left in a pet taxi at the doorstep of the devil w/ a pack of filtered cigarettes and a note that warned of silhouettes and lies i imagine him then thrusting me into the vacant womb of an unemployed actress w