C++

Drowning in work generally… but mostly for my programming class.

C         The scythe swings ‘round.

+          My grave is marked.

+          Behold – The overloaded operator!

L.T.K’s Friendship Bracelet

T. made me a paperclip bracelet
when we were sixteen.
I store it in a glass jar
with other bric-a-brac:
welded metal, dead coral,
a rubber hamburger
the size of a thumbnail.

People who don’t know her
nowadays whitewash her “L.”
but my pretty child sits
preserved in color on my desk
and she pinches my wrist
lest I forget
how whimsical the world once was,
albeit barbed.

overhead projector

Expo. Exposition
despite your formulaic
complaints and agnosticism.

Typo: wipe and rewrite.
The black curve of a hand
marking its promise –

first blurred then focused
on the transparent.

Love Song for Daniel*

*if/when he ever reads this. Jeff – don’t ruin the fun by telling him. Shh.

Off-prompt today. Thought I would pair yesterday’s break-up piece with a love poem consisting of others’ lyrics. These songs are all on a playlist I made for my husband when we just started dating. At the end of the poem, I’ve listed the songs in order of thievery.

The skies will be blue for all my life.
Wild thing, you make my heart sing.
You make my heart beat like the rain.

You’re what keeps me believing
the world’s not gone dead.
Say the word and I will follow you.

I’m thinking out loud:
guys my age don’t know how to love me.
My youth is yours.

Now I know that happiness goes on;
the sky is always painted blue.
In the cold light, I live to love and adore you.

Songs:

Happy Together – The Turtles
Wild Thing – The Troggs
Electric Love – BØRNS
I Want to Know Your Plans – Say Anything
All I Ask of You – Phantom of the Opera
Thinking Out Loud – Ed Sheeran
Guys My Age – Hey Violet
YOUTH – Troye Silvan
The Longest Time – Billy Joel
Life Support – Sam Smith
There Will Be Time – Mumford & Sons ft. Baaba Maal

doctor sleep

Since Smokeshow is dropping their sophomore album on Monday (!!!), I thought I would model this piece on inarguably the world’s best break-up song – and my favorite off their debut – The Shining. The meter is way, way off; I tried to follow Ellie’s rhyme scheme to the best(?) of my abilities. Also, I like to think the… simplicity reflects my predominant musical influence of early 2000s punk rock.

Lemonade vodka and wine,
slurring to myself you’d still be mine.
Drink to my doldrums, St. Valentine,
mouthfuls of tar.

We two broken seraphim,
your affections built on a whim,
your eyes, my thighs, my heart, your chin:
all of them scarred.

And I remember, barefoot in the streets,
the shadows running long:
an adventure sure to cement you to me,
but you picked up your feet and were gone.

Your smiling icon yelling through the phone,
telling me I deserved to be alone.
Spitting bullets and throwing stones,
you pried me ajar.

And I remember, barefoot in the streets,
the shadows running long:
an adventure sure to cement you to me,
but you picked up your feet and were gone.

a blue mist is

NaPoWriMo #14: Imitation, flattery, yadda yadda yadda

The bare bones, sap-stained,
clack in the mouth
with their alliterative ambrosia.

The teething child sucks at the marrow,
cries baldly, and how,
fat tears from her moony eyes.

She knows these old bones
lolling on her tongue,
imparting their whiteness –

their liveliness and readiness
a gift from the grave, that
clacking rattle lodged in the throat.

black sheep, come on

When I went to college,
she would loot my closet for
the dresses deserving of more
than half a dorm room recess,
than new necklines of beer and stain.

I warned her not to touch them;
she wore them anyway,
my Phi Beta Kappa betrayer,
NSF-fellow nihilist, only unsuccessful
at playing the fool.

When she went to college,
no one was left to tell our mother
the whose and the whys. My closest
became a haven for the raiment
with which we could not part.

And that is how I came to possess
the black pineapple dress, the dark whimsy
for which she was never well-suited:
fit and flare and black as sin
but only in the proper light.

The Sailor’s Easter Poem

The candle of rebirth has been lit,
primordial fear sunk red but low.
One novena more for the oncologist:
the candle of rebirth has been lit.
Sing praise to your radiation therapists:
one more week ‘til quelled this persistent foe.
The candle of rebirth has been lit,
primordial fear sunk red but low.

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