Winter Cleaning Symposium

Quarry


I find you in my writing
I see you in my soul
But, my eyes,
they grow delirious, and
fingers, haggard of toll

I see your cuffed jeans
and your aqua enameled toes
You’re kicking sand at me, as
your hair, covering half your face,
gets in your eyes and your teeth, and
you bubble over into the spume,
at your feet, and I’m a sooth,
I’m a sage, and you, my quarry



SOME1


I need some1
Some1 to lie in my bed
an’ hold me, an’ tell me
“It’ll all be hale/ It’ll all be well.”
to tell me I’ll still be here in the morning.
And swear on their life I won’t vaporize, and I won’t combust,
some1 to rub my head as I softly murmur, and slowly drift into sleep,
and that same some1 to be there when I awake, with crusted shut eyes,
blurred and innocent and starry.
“Good morning baby,” they’ll say.
My some1 will say in their some1 voice, in their unique, sexy some1 way, with
their lovin’ some1 lips and drainin’ some1 eyes.
“A kiss from me is the best remedy,” my some1 will say. “Don’t choo worry,”
my some1 will smile.
And I’ll smile back at my some1.


My Watch.

I smile so much it hurts.
My wrinkles on my face burn when they unhinge.
And I twist my wrist.

You smile so much you forget to check your watch.
You’re very bad at that, you know?
You have a bad habit, you know?
A bad habit of checking your watch.
If you keep checking your watch this often,
people will begin to think you don’t care,
don’t care for them.
Care for them at all.
And you check your phone too.
Too much.
You check it all,
all too much.

It’s a habit.
Take no offense.

Well, I’m just saying.
Plain as said.

Well say no further.
And sew yourself up.

You’re asking for trouble.
A lot more trouble than you check your watch for.

I check my watch a lot.
I’m sure I can handle it.



Child


I forget what the door looked like when it slammed in my face.
But I know it was wooden, and I know I got splinters in my cheek. I cried for an hour or maybe two on that cold-black ground, dirt in my fingernails and bugs crawling all over my tiny swollen hands as I yelped and cried. No one came. They were supposed to come, but they didn’t. And I sat there, all night, on the front, in a pasture filled with grazing-type animals, harmless, they made good company, and even dried some of my tears. I finally lulled myself to sleep under the moon and all, and no pollution, and when I woke, I knew I was something better from it. Something different.
Being godforsaken and all alone changes a child.


STOP


It was a majestic blue flame – with tints of orange, blue, and yellow. And even a trace of green.
It was her book I was burning. And albeit it once smelled of her, and her alluring scents, it was now ash, and quickly becoming dust.
It had her name written on the first page.
In big, bold Sharpie written letters, it read.
I only wanted to burn it to burn her. Well, and also because I didn’t know exactly what to do with it – other than burn it.
I told her I had her book.
But, it was apparent she wanted neither me, nor the book. So, I decided to burn it.
I didn’t really ever believe we could be together, or that I would spend numerous nights crying in the shower and telling myself “Nick, it’s O.K.,” but, I didn’t think she would just drop off like she did either.
One day we are in the library together, embracing in the presence of Dickens and Britannica, and the next, she’s gone rogue.
Or, I guess that’s how it went.
She was rather ambiguous, and never told me. It was unspoken. She didn’t speak to me. And out of frustration, I begged her to talk to me.
I pleaded to know how she felt, what was happening, and why? And she told me. She told me what she wanted to tell me, making it easy for me to understand, and “stop.”
“Stop.” She said.
“Stop.”


Liar


Her lips are tightly drawn.
Thin and supple
As they glimmer,
in the harsh, wynter gray.

Yet – parched.
Lusting for passion.

I draw close.
Her lips contort like clay, and encircle the word.
“Nicholas.”
They say.
They say it long-drawn-out.
Overemphasizing each syllable.

And then I see them grazing my neck hair.
Premonitory to the following
Trifling with my own lips.
She pulls away to emit her hot breath.

As she calms her heart,
And the beat slows to manageable

She pauses.


And then she puts that cigarette in her mouth.
And lights it.
And takes a drag.
And pulls it away.
And its all lipstick stained, and creased.
And you can make out her lip indentations on the stain.
And her lips are liars.
And I realize I’ve got the wrong pair.
And “Nicholas” isn’t me.

And I drown her out.
I hear static ring and black noise, and I close my eyes.
And I smell smoke.