i feel beads of sweat sliding down my forehead,
gently, like bits of silk have just squeezed through my pores,
and the fan is on the other side of the room.
it doesn't quite seem worth the effort to turn it on,
but i do it anyway,
and the(more)n i approach the window and look outside. i see a puddle that seems like the sky, condensed,
and then i see a sky that seems like a puddle, stretching endlessly above us.
when a bead drips down my cheek,
i think of the storm yesterday--
i catch it with the tip of my finger
and then lick it.
this is going to be a long day. (less)
the great, hungry void,
an endless black sea,
invites me to be destroyed.
"cease 'me,' become 'we.' "
the dark palace is the place
(more) with which i must reunite.
i want to dance in its space
never seeing the light.
i move toward the edge,
and then let myself go;
but after leaving the ledge,
i feel a sharp blow.
light pierces my eyes:
i'm in another palace.
as i force myself to rise,
i realize the void's malice. (less)
ice to liquid to vapor
it can be hard to see yourself as vapor,
you're so solid and cold and powerful
and the world must try hard to break you
(more) you might imagine it sometimes
it might seem more real, more possible
to become vapor
but you've become better, even if
you sometimes miss your ice days.
but you can fit in any space
and you're important
and people need a lot of you
as vapor, you're close to fading away
you make friends with the space around you
while the molecules that make up
run away from each other
you and your friend
become one (less)
the sand seeps between my toes,
and as it tickles my skin, my nerves, me
i wonder what the sand might look like
if it rose above my knees, my hips, my chest, my head.
i wonder what the sand might look like
(more) if it made waves like the ocean water
(after all, for so long, it had been sitting there
alongside the ocean water--surely, with a mind,
it might come to admire it, or despise it--
or, at the very least, entertain the idea of being it)
i wonder what the sand might look like
if it rose so high,
and traveled so far,
that it swallowed whole cities.
well, at the very least, it'd look quite
What I find when I open my eyes
is that everything has upped a size.
The pillow kissing the back of my head
is now more like an entire bed.
The candy foil on the ground doesn't fail to astound:
it's like an umbrella without the stick;
(more) I really think I'm going to be sick.
The carpet reaches for miles on end.
This is like the dream I had at ten.
I open my eyes again. (less)
It's nighttime. He's chasing a person dressed in all black, chasing them across a dark field. He grips a pistol in his right hand. His chest heaves. His heart's beating like it hadn't since his police training.
Catching them could be the highlight of his career. And even though(more) he's scared out of his mind, he's smiling, because he had craved this fear for a long, long time. The fear was like a new friend who he was politely shaking hands with.
But the person in black was fast. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to catch them.
Suddenly they enter a sea of trees. The trees are tall and unruly, and as the policeman runs his face is scraped by the branches. Drops of blood slither down his coarse face.
The person in black stops.
Slowly, they turn around.
The sound of the policeman's heavy breathing travels through the air.
On the face of the person--the woman--is a smile.
"Hi, my name's Annabel. My cabin's over there. Would you like to come in for tea?" (less)
Her eyes dart back and forth,
just like her thoughts.
Her front teeth keep scraping her bottom lip
as she picks at bloody dots
until they eventually rip,
causing colossal crimson drops to blot
(more) her pretty skin.
She's sitting in the waiting room,
thinking about the boy she'd known since she was ten.
The boy who was now having his veins injected
with the magical liquid that might save him,
save him from that ghastly chemical that
had wreaked havoc on both of them
since the day they tried it at sixteen.
She looks down and then all around,
at the beady eyes and plastered-on smiles,
None she cares for. But she's bound,
bound by those long-held customs,
bound to marry a man she despises.
Sometimes she'd rather drown.
(more) But in the crowd, she notices one unhappy face,
a face that matches how she feels,
and she decides that if that person can frown,
she can frown, too, and she can do what she wishes;
she's not so bound, bound, bound.
Realizing, she furrows her brows,
and stares at the man before her.
"I hate you."
Then, to the surprise of most, she leaps off the podium,
toward the door, toward her freedom.
As she runs, she tears off her heels, feeling
the carpet underneath.
The woman runs, runs, runs, even once she's out the door,
basking in the sunlight that feels so new.
Then the sound of a horn assaults her eardrums.
The world goes black. (less)
I was in a garden. Night reigned over the world, while the machinations of my mind leaped out as though they were kittens eager to exit a pet carrier.
As I tried to grasp the grass beneath me, it slipped through my fingers like water through a strainer.
Oh--and(more) its once green coloration shifted to yellow... now purple... now pink.
I focused my eyes on the bright blades... latching, latching, release.
The grass failed to solidify. The grass wasn't easy to hold; it wanted to be free, to escape being.
I heard the roar of the lawnmower in the distance.
It distracted me. That was it. It distracted me, and I couldn't fully materialize those flexible, chromatic spikes.
But then the grass was gone, ripped from its home by that colossal lawnmower.
Why, why didn't I try harder?
And with a snap--like breaking a celery stalk--I escaped being, too. (less)
Still darkness envelops me; before sleep comes, I think I must unwind. Give attention to the inner babble.
Fuzzy floating feathers fill that special crevice of the mind, along with a plethora of silly, beautiful worldly objects.
As I'm pursuing psychological travel, the visions slowly unravel.
Chromatic furs, g(more)leaming eyes, pearly smiles. There's a perfect red ball, like a fresh berry, and it's attached to a white face. I see a clown playing basketball with a bouncy donut.
A playpen of nonsense, stuck in place, yearning to be free. This is the mind's eye--where whimsical whirlwinds reveal themselves. (less)
His arms, coated in the navy blue Armani suit, rested on the black couch cushions. A smirk was slowly forming on his handsome face. He had that angular jaw, straight nose, high cheekbones kind of look.
In the kitchen her small hands moved back and forth like a pendulum(more) as she scrubbed the plate he had just eaten from. The sound of the pouring water and the sponge rubbing against the porcelain filled the air.
"I threw my last one in the trash can," he said.
"What?" she shouted, jerking her head sideways.
His grin was now fully formed. He tapped his finger on the cushion for a few moments.
Then, he silently stood up and started plodding across the carpet.
She thought nothing of it, until he slipped into the kitchen, came up behind her, and wrapped his hands--tanned from his vacation to the Caribbean--around her throat. (less)
We're in a funny place with funny rules. Degrees matter.
Look into their eyes, but don't look too long. Ask questions, but don't turn the conversation into an interview. Grip their hand firmly, but not too firmly.
And what is it all for? To impress?
(more) Sometimes I'd like for everyone to just... let go.
What if, for a moment, the whole of humanity ceased what they were doing and engaged themselves in a great, big, wonderful group hug? With the mailman, a coworker, and the hobo on the street corner?
Might a little bit of bitterness exit this strange world?
Genuine kindness ought to count for more than following an arbitrary set of rules. After all, we're just humans, who are, in some ways, tragically intelligent. Simplicity goes a long way. (less)
Black dots litter his jawline like pebbles on a beach,
and his dark eyes, once locked on yours, never falter.
One wrong word and his temper is a firecracker,
darting into the air like the volume of his voice.
(more) No amount of sorries will save you.
In his mind fear is as scarce as visible stars in a city sky. (less)
and the dusty blinds won't let me unwind my mind.
For hours I'd been at it.
"Don't you think you ought to kick that habit?"
But I have to get rid of the mental itch;
it's like I've been cursed by some evil witch.
(more) "There will always be more to scrub.
All you can do is hop in the tub
and clean your skin,
'cause in this world, you'll never win.
Even the earth makes messes--
but consider all its successes."
Maybe it's fine to leave some dust.
After all, we'll one day rust. (less)