Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Hey, Jealousy!

The heart lives in the deadliest of houses --- its feelings.
An organ of fancy, it believes too much and forgets too little.

In a city south of the metro, a writer wields her pen in a flurry of gossamer wings.
She looks for words to hide behind, as though scrambling for clothes.
But she fails to find the right ones. So she buys a ticket to dreamland ---
"What keeps us alive within these walls of blood and bone is the promise of sleep. Ergo, the momentary forgetting of words than wound."
 --- and promptly misses the flight.

Resigned, she picks up her pen
and disappears into the grain and grind
against words elusive.

After fighting off the urge
to hurl her phone at the face
of her slumbering lover.

Gin Blossoms.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Currencies of feeling

The moon seemed to be in their favor that night. And the wind, delighted at the thought, carried cherry blossoms to sprinkle the uneven pavement as she made her way to where she stood, hands raised to mark her spot as if she would miss her. Dewy skin, comfortable shoes, jeans and a shirt available only in a shop situated halfway around the world --- she stood there waiting for her and she knew that the moment she took a step forward, her world would crumble.

Oh, please. Don't say anything.

And she didn't. Exempt from sound. Instead, when she was quite near, she reached for her cheek and as she closed her eyes to savor the contact, she heard a voice: 

"You do not have enough balance to continue this dream. Please reload immediately to avoid disconnection."