"Not even a flag," "anne, sylvia, death, and me" and "such realities"

Not even a flag

Were you in the middle of white
Breathing so right
As if anything of color
Would take away your clean

Were you so saturated in pigment
That you could barely breathe any thing
Light - knowing all was against you
And you'd never feel free

Are you here boundless, (mis)embodied
With me, her, him, us.....
Feeling untethered
Not even a flag could ground you

I don't know what to tell you
Whatever I may think or say or feel
Will not be heard by hard ears
And it all seems so far gone



anne, sylvia, death, and me


I could've been her, Anne -

Sequined in pills, cigarettes and liquor.
Draped in ghosts still living under every 
Nail bed, the taste of them; sweet deaths.

Talking in rich tongues to new gods cloaked 
In white lab coats- knowing, just knowing, 
This time all will be right and good and normal. So normal. 
Right? I could've been her. Best at her worst. 

And the drippings of her soak into me;
The empty spots. That I haven't gotten around to fill yet.
Her insanity; like mites like vermin like gin like sex like ugly
like a sermon spitting out the mouth of a dirty preacher holding 
Mary in his hand feeling her beads hard upon his finger rubbing. 
Like all that is here and not wanted. 
Not wanted.


"...And the villagers never liked you..." Sylvia

Salted slice just to make sure it stung.

And you breathe slow like you don't notice
The man's hands following his wandering eyes
And the stench of their findings on his too-late
Goodnight kiss on your already asleep cheek.
And the broken thunderings of his intoxicated snores
Drive through you; each one, serrated.

And the trips down memory lane of lonely nights,
Long gone father, heavy handed mother
And never fully solid or tethered you -
Pour into all those bits that you thought were whole
And you feel the empty of them. 
So completely now.
And you drown. And drink. And hang. And down.
Until you don't know the sting any longer.


Ménage à trois

The two of them and their boy;
Him;  knowing, they were a sure thing.
Sooner rather than later. Also, known.

Such fuckery at the bottom of bottles
Tipped back until their eyes rolled 
Until their tongues whipped about
Cutting into anyone and everyone.
They, so pretty, in their privilege.

The fescennine au pairs - playing domestic, 
All the while, they two; the blonde and the brunette,
Molest their boy...riding him hard. 

Cunts, the two of them really.  Each one
Fingering the other with plots and slices and shocks
And downs and more downs... wondering 
Who would get got by him first.  

She sat there. Green and angry-betrayed.
The little fair-haired bitch laid herself out 
For their boy..and he took her. 

Now, now, now..he consoles his other tramp.
Soon enough my darling, soon enough.


what about     me



such realities

I'd like to say i took notice of the hummingbirds dipping and flitting about
or the thugs in suits pillaging the corners of pockets or the heathens dousing
our wombs with tainted holiness or the grandmas raising up their offspring's offspring
not making ends meet or the orange people draped in blood-stained ice
scavenging meat from the distracted walking dead or the pretty, pretty, little roses blooming
in little red-light-windows - show and tell and taken or the friday night football games packed
with hope of making it or the smile from the kid down the street that finally made the honor
roll or my husband drinking his morning coffee or my son skateboarding to work at the liquor store
down the hill or the heroin-soaked blood waiting in syringes - more bang for the buck
or her newborn's smile not yet influenced....I'd like to say i took notice i just can't bring myself
to such realities especially when this flat screen is showing me how to hack everyday life.




Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Tuesday, October 24, 2017 - 22:18