Tag: photo

Capturing Campus: A Dandelion Achievement 

EKArts Leave a comment

A Dandelion Achievement 

I remind you what the dandelions told me:

don’t be happy, they said

be content instead 

why smile when flatline lips looks so good on you

when other hearts shudder and thud

yours is still

but I still hear you begging

better make me, make me better, medicate me

make it last

time will scar me 

and the sun only shines half a day

it’s best to try

try to be happy

to smile through it all

to relish in hunger 

to moan as you loath

to indulge in the terror

the bleeding and belting

I remind you 

to water them

but tell you they are weeds

Capturing Campus: 21st

EKArts Leave a comment

21st

Clouds stretched thin

like dead end

roads or frayed hair

sharpen the pencil to the point.

of breaking 

of knowing

the answers

| watch |

the world weeps to celebrate

cross the street

meet a friend

and another

for lunch and a book

that reminds you of someone

watch the sky die

let the bold moon

speak to you

drink loud music and vodka  

shake the floor with your tongue 

sway and smile 

desperate and dizzy

on the night you agreed to 

nod and say 

it’s time to leave

and wake to the rising sun

Capturing Campus: This ain’t his house

EKArts Leave a comment

This ain’t his house

a man lives in my attic

I don’t know if he knows that I know that he lives in my attic

but he sure as hell knows that I know that this ain’t his house

his feet don’t hit the floorboards right

the house squeaks to let him know

he fuzzied the bristles on my toothbrush  

and the cabinet doors are wide open 

he lets them breathe

speakin’ something sad

Every night is a rhythm:

stomp the steps

lift the door 

plump the pink 

pillow in my attic—not his but mine

because this ain’t his house

though he snores like he owns it

I’ll talk to him tomorrow 

Capturing Campus: Birthday Card

EKArts Leave a comment

Birthday Card

It was your birthday like every year

colored pencils to paper 

(what knives are to skin)

you told me green was your favorite color

—you didn’t have one

I know that now

but I didn’t know that then—

so I tore up the backyard

ripped leaves from maple trees

scooped moss in mighty handfuls 

fistfuls, pocketfuls

to give to you

you lied because colors don’t shine

for old shuttered eyes

closer to glaucoma than clarity 

bleeding monochrome 

the dull and dim

the world without harpsichord tones

on rolling hills born into richness

of flavor

of color worth witnessing

on the page and in your palms

you are running out of birthdays