1,801 Readings | 2 Ratings

Place No Likelier Home

I arrive pregnant with questions with no need to have them resolved. Ruby a precious commodity, a metal I melt into sunscape. Performance installation, a living exhibit poking the polished chests of visitors.


Get into hot air balloon. Do not forget the infantile smile, the dwindling wrinkles. Gestalt by any other anonymous sweetener. It is not my place to drop a farmhouse on a pair of striped socks, mine being unmatched.


I take vitamins, curl into a ballet; the health-sickness overwhelms stomach and withers white blood cells. Guarded by every erasure, a song is a showering of how long can I hold this sound color?


My dress is a sky blue. A picket fence as maturity division, adults hemmed into the backyard patio furniture. This scene is number-crunched, an uncontrollable growth, composed but losing its composure.


I correct the night, stress afternoon but being indoors has no day phases, just irregular light beam patterns. Ate a fierce black bean burger and ruined its appetite. Reckon each person as a concept: handshake, keepsake, for heavens, for fucks.


This noon’s canvas belches clouds. I curl into a ball of nose bleeds with a headache as white as speaker feedback. Cannot talk directly into my microphone hands. I feel in violation of potential ghosts, of their hangouts. No one hears me.


The tornado cuts my throat, chucks my gut as all the familiar fragrances disappear. How will I know if I disappear? Will my ink disappear as halos appear at dawn? A hernia from lifting the frayed abode off the witch?
Posted 05/20/10
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