Sunday, May 26, 2013

Papers Found While Re-flooring The Living Room

five
our brave soldier
was the last
over the fence; the rusted wire
cat scratched through her fatigues,
and she died two weeks later,
with an arched back like rigor mortis
in a motorless parking lot
i could see hollow eyes watching us as we ran from the fence,
slender tendon fingers entwined in the chain links
four
our smiling neighbor
was stealing food
and caught a bug; a spider
bite racing black up his veins,
and he died spare minutes later,
with eyes frosted mustard gas yellow
in a rusted red, shallow playground
i could see hollow eyes watching us from the schoolhouse windows,
two emaciated silhouettes illuminated by the orange evening sun
three
our quiet priest
was the first
to be strangled; bent twig fingers
emerging from the dark behind him,
and he died as we ran,
with a croaking sound
in a smoking, shrouded parish
i could see hollow eyes watching us when i locked the front door
moonlight incandescent off the ringed slickness inside their vacant sockets
two
my boy
i can see hollow eyes atop slender figures watching me now
three of them are tall and one of them is small
one
i
am alone
in this house; no one to
sit next to or talk to or hold,
and i think i am done,
even as i write
in an isolated house
i can hear windy whispers shadowing me now
promising that they’ll take me in if i’m feeling lonely

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

[rough stuff] Burial Moon

Here is a little bit of something I just wrote, and did a quick edit of. I told Kevin about a new writing technique I've been trying and while I like the results, I would like to hear what you guys think of it. Is it more interesting than the way I'd been writing before? Worse?

Uhm, anyway, here it is.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Rain bothered.


Rain bothered. Jack didn’t think rain served any other purpose nearly as well as it served to annoy. Rain rivered down the glass of his windshield, smearing the lights of the lampposts and the passing orange tail lights floating by his car. The radio blared, static and fuzz drowning Cobain’s pained crooning.