hollowtears

The yellow lines passed like strewn sunflower petals Discarded by some weary Hansel or Gretel Just in case the Big Brick Oven wasn't what it seemed They stretched behind her infinitely toward the horizon bleeding eternal sunlight That dried the salt off her skin She felt stifled by the corn stalks and post-office middle schools The only traffic light blinked red in the distance Foretelling the white squall blow storms Rotting cars littering the front yards And preteen clothes hanger abortion dreams That lay ahead The Lonely Bar stood quiet against the grey night Full of clicking bottles And shattered glass fights Over aspirin in

He's gone for sure… I heard him whistling As his spine arched to throw Wide the double doors And send the dirty fruit bowls Crashing to the floor. Another job opening on 12th street And it's only 2:00 Lazy Sunday afternoon With Boston and the Motor Home and my second family. Unseasonably warm and girls playing double dutch With a frayed clothesline- I hear the criss-cross, pitter-patter footfall as the blocks melt away And the East River surges past And thousands of foreign feet pound the bridge above me. The sun falls in the sky and the stars show their glassy eyes As I find that comfortable chair around the cluttered tabl

The pilot clicked, reverberated in the hollow room Followed by the rise of orange and blue flame Like the tail feathers of a parrot Spiked toward the ceiling. Smoke billowed up in long thin strands Emanating from my stretched palm Resting on the burner. Heat pinched mountain peaks along my flesh Leaving smooth ravines for curious fingers to trace, Born again, enveloped in creation. I passed out in a heap on the kitchen floor From the pain I never felt. I'm glad you found me vulnerable on the floor And not in the oven like Sylvia Plath.

An unanswered phone will drive you crazy. Too much alcohol brings out your dark side—always keep a flashlight handy. Someone will talk you down from your emotional ledge. There aren't always second chances—be grateful for your fifth. Not everyone will hold your hair back and chances are you'll puke on your shoes. Your jealousy will be the elephant in the room. He may not always love you, but he does right now, and the bright blue world is spinning. Your shoes are untied. You will fall in love with a handsome stranger whose hands smell like fixer. There will be rain in your future, but you will inherit cute rain boots. Hipsters wil

A frayed push broom Hissing noisily against The mid-morning quiet street Alone with his nicotine stained hands And violent day-haunts of vivid green glistening in the dark Beneath the weight of a Charlie… Or a Dan or a Tom… Now he stands, muttering, simply another outstretched hand Awaiting the crowds of dark blue suits, camouflaged Against the grey city street.

if strangers had met If only I could hold it in… I exploded into the ash and soot of night Where the eyes of strangers fear to meet Life more often than not ends where the street begins Cracked asphalt rocking beneath the force of my combustion Not too soon to feel poverty without being poor Not too late to taste the rich silver spoon clacking against my teeth I see them swarming, faceless in the streets— Strangers not aware of my kind Of my body, neither whole nor dismembered, floating Cruel explosion—if only I could hold it in… Complete only in the release of I Not much depends on my weight anymore… Not even on the weight of

His heart beats like 1974 suede sneakers Running over burnt orange shag carpeting As he melts into "The Rain Song" and wishes that He couldn't remember where he put his keys. Running over burnt orange shag carpeting The thief dropped his knife into the umbrella stand He couldn't remember where he put his keys And his hand was bleeding all over the rug. The thief dropped his knife into the umbrella stand, Mom stood shaking in the kitchen "And his hand was bleeding all over the rug," She hadn't remembered stabbing him. Mom stood shaking in the kitchen, Examining the blood spatter constellation… She hadn't remembered stabbing him

Something to hold onto Like glassy grains of golden sand Clutched between thick, calloused fingers Weary from the failed journey… Beaded reminders wrap around fingers Like a primitive rosary A reminder of those eyes That will never see the silvery horizon of home. I lost the rope's end, The strands frayed and slipped through my smooth fingers, The rope that connected us, Moving us along the same uncertain path. I was stranded there amidst those shining, glassy beads, Left to dry out under the unforgiving sun- No rosary mended my fingers together, No silver horizon awaited my sight. I shrunk beneath the weight of the sun Unt

There are times when I wonder if this is the right fit As if fit had anything to do with it Like we were pants or panting or just dying to break the mold There are times when I fumble for that fifth step When there were only four But my feet are too busy running west While my head drifts east, where home was before. There are times when I can't stop the noise And I stand outside your window Just to catch a glimpse Or catch my breath Or see something that I over looked. There are days when my skin isn't big enough to hold me When the bones don't fit As if my skin wouldn't stretch Like I were stone or just too stoned or just to

Severed cloth dangling from silent threads That line the hem of your faded down coat A smell of cold winter air The lingering chill on the rose-pink flesh My hands wandered forth to touch Premonitions, forebodings, signs on the street— The dying, flickering light bulb in the movie house marquee As we exchanged the frozen words from our faded-to-white lips Hands distant in the February frost— A sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach The Sunday New York Times litters my floor, Ignored by my meandering feet How many years had passed since those crosswords? Our feet entangled on your too narrow bed With our best intentions and m