Writing, Ideas, & Stories
his name-
bold golden embroidery
across his regal leather jacket
over a ferocious mane
aviators held up over his grand beak
talons tucked into tawny gloves
his wide wingspan expanding across-
a righteous matching decal- the Griffin.
the Griffin, readied
roaring-
the spared prey gathered
heat pulsated from the runway
tearing the flesh from our bones
no one dared blink-
squawking-
than-
vanished.
for the feeding ground.
or so the sign says.
solo lawn chair-
warm waves crashing
forming spear shaped rocks
whining seagulls perch the
glossy mossed tips
look at thee- the “edge
of the world”
warm waves crashing-
a sign.
as eyes closed-
the waves, molding-
warm waves crashing
forming- sizzles
ivory silk sheets
coffee and vanilla fill the empty space.
sizzles raise from the pan
harmony providing sparrow
mug filled to the brim
sun overlooks the island-
the path-
warm waves sizzling-
seagulls carol-
raised feet atop
smoothing, shining stones-
at the edge
of the world.
new park
same storm-
really just a drizzle
atop a tabletop
with a cigarette bud-
last glare of the sun
before
kidnapped by deadbeat clouds.
honey & vanilla:
couple played on the swings
giddy laughter
their stomps soaked
their bottom halves-
the boy
stopped-
reached into the depths of his pocket-
shivered
a well kept
red note tied with a bow
the girl
stopped-
reached into the depths of his note-
she ate it
and ran away.
serenaded by a robin
smoke ceasing
as the sun peaks past
the over protective clouds-
back against watered boards
held high
a bow
“would you burn this all down, to save her?”
his open palm gestured behind him
highlighting a mostly vacant parking lot
convenience store with a couple of loiterers
water-damaged apartment complex with towels hanging from railings
kids playing make-believe
a couple- a couple maybe returning from a lively first date
snickering and whispering, a future alive in their clasped hands
and a homeless man.
–
I would.
day of our showcase
pants hemmed the night before
shirt pressed the night before
day of our showcase
up bright and early;
birds chirped a fresh melody-
a duet-
can’t deny their chemistry-
Juliet.
night of our showcase
must have gotten lost the morning of
changed your mind the morning of
night of our showcase
down, late and groggy;
the foggy night swings-
memory of a duet-
marionette’s heartstrings-
where have you gone, juliet.
you breathe too sweet
galloping toward you like a bear in a red tee.
oh honey honey-
the picnic is you
oh honey honey-
open the jar
i use to wr-
i use to post a lot, small moments
covered in a scarf
or bundles of blankets
like a timeline of me.
& somewhere along the way
i started to take in
this negativity that spawned:
some from these memories
from the dread of time
the doubt i have over these dreams.
more input then
i could process
all the good the bad and the ugly.
if everything was put into a blender
mashed, spewed out of a topless container
caught in all of my gears
along my side
locked up
& eventually
my audience lost interest in my work-
myself.
so now
high noon
moon beaming down like a spotlight.
crisp evening air blows through a chipped scarf down to these worn denim.
whistles of a challenger:
matching gray python boots and pistol
all that’s left is a trail of smoke and an eye meeting mine.
he whispers, “Every gun makes its own tune”.
they wished the worst on you
slip and fall
into a pool of your own blood
streaming from your diseased dreams
while your mother chokes
on her own shitty unseasoned cooking.
all for saying
you were excited for Moon Knight.
future sight
is inexpensive
it only cost me
my youth
last year
a shakey handoff
(at best)
constantly choosing between
life and sleep
haven’t slept in years
when i do;
my dreams were a gothic spinoff
love interest played by wednesday.
black and white lens
for thee ending send-off
all black molotov
(for those who couldn’t be here)
with fireworks
and a rip off.
Saint's Muse 