Every Saturday, after work, I visit my grandmother at her nursing home. It’s about a half an hour drive to get there, but it’s worth the drive. Grandma G isn’t the normal nursing home type you’d think of: sweet, unsuspecting, a kind of elderly innocence.
They say that time is a constant, In math world it is an unchanging letter k. But I say that it becomes a variable, A perfect letter x. Time can be carefully controlled, ceaseless, A cascading current. But time becomes elastic, expendable, An extraordinary extreme. We can not change the flow of
It’s my last day with the old giants In mourning I hike the lost trails, sniffing the aroma of the bark, that cinnamon of the forest Under tepees of wood in a membrane of shadows, I stalk the earth, its mammal traces, its elusive tracks, to sit on a fallen log where spiders macramé, moss sloping
The sun dawns upon me Again I’m greeted to gasps of reality Holding onto dreams I can disappear into until the day breaks, bright and true Every morning I breathe incapabilities but I still wake with a certain heart Knowing you’ll rise over the hill, I race to see You are unaltered energy stirr
Time is a girl with curly hair that bounces with every step and twirl she takes She talks with her hands but never fails to find the right word to say She can be by your side one second and gone the next Getting lost in the crowd is fun to her She is bipolar with moods that seem too intense to ha
I seduced Time I brought her thorny flowers, held her worn hands and kissed her softly I caressed her flushed cheeks and played with her hair, long like a timeline I ran my hands along her battle-won scars and her strong but delicate body I buried my face in her neck and left little marks there,
In a far distant and long forgotten land, there stands a great forest. An ancient power is said to live within, fed into the earth through deep and powerful roots. The vastness of the strange forest covers a mountain from its base to its peak, brushing the clouds.
The night was warm and a blue haired girl sat alone at a bar. She was at one end, trying to catch a glimpse of a woman sitting opposite, a woman with long dark hair and caramel skin. Robyn knew her from somewhere, she was sure of it.
i’m a mannequin, a marionette man, my actions preplanned. i go through my motions, i do a little dance. My movements based off the crowd’s applause i give a little wave because that’s what i was made to do, that’s what i’m made to do, that’s what she makes me do.
It was mid-October and I was laying outside under the large oak tree reading a novel. The tree’s branches swayed in the wind, arms moving as if they were protecting the leaves and everything surrounding it. As I was flipping the pages, I shifted my weight under the crunch of the dead leaves.
They’ve run out of garbage bags to use as body bags. Power lines cracked in half like splintered pencils are strewn through the streets neighborhoods panic as the ground forgets what being solid is again aftershocks bigger than most earthquakes bend steel and rebar like toddlers bend fuzzy pipe c
“What is one factor that affects the Blood Alcohol Level and is an extremely important factor (in order to ‘sober up’)?” I stare at the question on the computer screen. The hum of conversation in the DMV provides constant background noise.
It’s midnight, and he finds that it’s impossible to sleep. He isn’t exactly sure why, though he suspects it’s because his mind has wound itself into a series of complicated knots. There’s an abundance of loose ends as well, and he wonders which one carries the most weight.
you are like the sun: oblivious to time’s existence wake up at noon to eat dessert and watch television reruns. you are sleepless nights and grease stained fingers covered in cuts and bruises and scabs. you are like the war you were too young to fight in and the silent ones you fight every day be
Like clockwork revaluations to new forgotten ideas lined up in my mind like young adult novels on my ratty old grey bookcases, I live stories lined up in many different tenses dog-eared identities taking place in crises fueled hourglass clocks, if there is one thing I’ll never run out of it is