"stranger's diary"

22/30

we found you on the steps
of an abandoned church in the countryside
looking for a home
you sat open and inviting to the occasional
passerby, should one ever approach.
page 131 cracked open, dog-eared with intention
begging for the intimacy of a close read
like a exhibitionist with an ever-unbuttoned trench coat
you sacrifice mystery for the simple
thrill of being seen
forgetting this is not the same as being known
or understood
for the abstract painting dwelling within,
sometimes it all a matter of thinking you are appreciated.

hold me like you would a thriller novel
clutching the pages with earnest
desire to see what's on the other side.
Getting high off the wrong turns and
feeling justified in the right,
fully absorbed into
whatever emotional connection the author
prescribes.
I write our story like smoke in the sky
look up while you can, before it absorbs itself
into the clouds.

"burnt dinner"

21/30

My lips are sunburned by the thought of you
the rays, they tickle like sunshine and
scald like overcooked dinner

You remind me of
absolutely nothing familiar.
I study the instruction manual of your palm
for clues to your efficient operation,
I dig into the dirt
mound where you hide your secrets
and maintain the shovel isn't mine.
I speak to the birds who grace your window
chirping your praises in interpretation,
revealing more than your
eternally blank stare.
You're empty so I paint you
in the prettiest of greys,
may you never shower off my
efforts of delicately faded shades.
A marking melts like
the warmed-over ice in
espresso to awaken you,
leaving but a watered-down jolt.

Like ice
I hold you in the palm of my hand.



(note: I know I took some liberties with this prompt, but I could not help but run (away) with it.)

"box of teeth"

15/30

nibble at your earlobe, dear
just to have you listen close
buy a box of teeth to always keep
your attention on it's toes.
(be sure to
protect them from the cold!)
for
idle chattering is a turn-off and
gossip is a crime.
click your tongue against your palate
as if the plate were mine.
sensitive and razor-sharp,
your eyes mirror a
kind shark's jaws.
layers and layers serrate rescue attempts,
slice open the bowels and
dump out contents.
Anything to read your mind
and inhibit risk of victim's tricks -
a palm of a hand or a
finger wrapped.

swim with blood and
up! you're snapped.

"after death"

19/30

I, your Lazarus,
require a savior to remove my stubborn stone.
is he (she?) to be delivered unto me
via Harvard med school prophesy?

For rebirth commands some kind of death,
bathed in some newness of
carefully constructed DNA
dangling strands intertwining,
(presumably not strangling)
the delicate ecosystem of my inner self.
I must open myself up to the suffering:
lay myself upon the perilously uncomfortable bed
intended for everything but rest,
to be strapped up as sacrifice
to the life-eating bits
sniffing out prey in my blood stream.
take me, all of me, render me useless
pull the hair from my scalp,
strand by loving strand
20,000 pangs and
only then may I begin anew.

Take the varnish off nails and
ruddiness off cheeks
the spring from my step
and the step from my feet
My mind’s a wedding cake
and you’ve had but a bite
it’s bad luck not to take but one more slice.

To rise again they say I must first die
To the graph I host I beg:
don’t even try.

I’ve added up karma and hope for a 10th cone free:
have pity upon a reincarnated me.

"memo"

18/30

I want to express my hesitance
and this
is the only appropriate medium to
express unshared sentiments heading
to the trash heap.

You see
I found you once,
twice,
again, again,
all with the intention of
making our next encounter intentional.
alas, never to be so
and now
we will escape to separate spheres and
never again experience the beauty
of the occasional overlap in the
space-time continuum fate grants us.

I speak of fate because I believe in it,
like the tooth fairy before age 10 or
Santa before I got too wise.
Fatalist with some free will,
I guess I'd hoped for enough
of a nudge from this paternalistic universe
to make something happen.

I know you don't believe in anything but
humor me just one last time.
I swear the sound
of your voice could wake the dead and
I've been a flesh-eating zombie in your absence.
(I swear that was meant to sound more attractive than it did)
but it's been awhile and
I'm fresh out of reasons to perform for you.

So lull me
back into my grave before you leave.
turn out the lights and
wait for the storm.
leave me a post-it at the door.
--
A momento,
the memo
from a past unexplored.

"masters of the universe"

17/30

Legend said only the mighty may handle the sword
and rule Camelot.
We are Arthur with a 3.9 and leadership experience in
only the most prestigious on-campus activities.
Watery bints astound us, confuse us, refuse us
grant us thy sword and let us rule over the land --
eventually, we shall
turn your lake into a toxic waste dump,
pave paradise as it were and just
put up a parking lot.
(you'll have a reserved spot!)

Excalibur an offer letter,
(thou art VP of the round table!)
success is conquered territory of
an uncharted Saks Fifth Avenue.

Tax ye, peasant, because power in inheritable and
don't you know we own the plot you stand on?

Consider the facts, the figures of this handy report we've drawn up.
We are masters of the universe, and we've earned our spot.

"last, best kiss"

 11/30

Let us entertain the thought of artifacts bestowed
with magical powers. I enjoy
the notion that a kiss could grant me the
gift of persuasive lips,
not knowing, perhaps forgetting,
it's just a stone covered in piss.

I don't know what you could give me,
besides a herpes sore. Let us embrace the whimsy
of a gift with regenerative powers.
There is no need for finality
when
you can relive the magic every couple months
with the aid of Valtrex.

You seasonal strain of flu,
if your accent were contagious I'd
expose myself
(without vaccination!)
Yes, I guess you could say I believe in
the inherent risk of
getting too close to you.

"astronauts walking slowly"

I capture you
touching down upon my surface.
the craters stimulate caution —
acting like generous land mines, they
inform the user before purchase
and insure against buyer’s remorse.
In a world with asymmetric information,
it is nice to know that
visible scars exist as signals; keep the
soldier from stepping carelessly and
losing what is deemed central to his existence.
Keep us, our planetary gaze, from the mutually assured destruction of
being revealed for wanting,
possessing the desire to coexist and
exert the effort of a gravity-resistant step.
May we remain weightless
and numb to the friction
of our cratered spheres and merely watch
from a world away.
We remain in orbit, fearful of what we may touch.
If we place the wrong foot forward and
potentially say too much.