jumping off

the safety of (sudden) immersion
cannot be guaranteed;
the way we live our lives
beckons
its own translucent finger towards the subconscious...
we follow ever on cloaked in an illusion of security that
the
One
Worst
Thing
will not happen...

random short story portion

Horrified, she held her breath, pulling crazy-painful needles out of fingers one by one - unsure how long has been spent here - alone - in this windowless, underground hovel.  Some crunchy, inedible taste in her throat was making her choke... dirt, she recognized, as if observing as an outsider.   Half-sitting, her brain noted the implication of having been shoved face-first into the earth for a time, of needles in her fingers, of strange holes that do not lead to Wonderland... 

Someone had tortured her.   Would probably kill her.   Enjoyed it, apparently.  

Fabulous.  Just fucking fabulous.

Cognizant of the fact that sarcasm offered no protection here, she gingerly brushed the dirt off her hands and attempted to stand up to better survey her surroundings.  

lately i'm unsure
if i'm wandering forward or backwards
and whether or not forward means alone

books of poetry are not popular enough...

i miss mingling with poets, collecting chapbooks.   devouring them.  thinking of doing my own, ala Thom.   need to find a piece of austin in chicago...

snow blankets ruins of my heart.

Escape

Soul-stains smeared the corridor wall.

Smolder

Small explosions tumbled inside her eyes.