Category Archives: Creative

Off Script

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Single out and follow the clicks of my high heel boots,

a glimpse of androgynous chic among the crowd.

Catch me by the elbow, but I’m going to need

you to stand at the end of arm’s length, where the palm rests

on your shoulder to balance the surprise.

 

I don’t mind your company; just your interpretation.

Sure, walk with me, but hurry while I’m late.

 

“Get under my umbrella–don’t you feel the warning?”

~

Wrapping a silk scarf around my neck adds spice to a blank outfit;

that’s you when we chat and you smile under the shower until,

Well, this is my stop.  Parting words,

but imagine we match like the missing shoe I found this morning.

 

A tweed blazer attracts no one, even with a mini skirt–except

people watchers and you, because even you said

you’re kind of hard-headed. It explains the umpteenth time

you’ll conjure some sultry episode even if I say I’m not wired

for hook-ups or, honestly, any heavy rhythm against another.

 

I’m thinking, because I care, that you should

say good-bye. Just be gentle.

 

You’re still gonna call back and open doors for me tomorrow.

You don’t budge.

 

So, what to do with you when you decide to go off script?

 

 

 

Tornado Watch

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The season waits in the bathroom, clutching

pillows, a blanket,

 

the serious tone of the weatherman

waiting for the worst.

 

Afternoon clouds are night. Young willows give

up and bend, waiting to snap.

 

Listen for the freight train in the funnel. They say

it’ll be over before it can ponder the damage.

 

But the waiting room seems eternal.

 

 

Midnight Connection

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I showed you naked fragments,

how years at a time without it

were overcast. This is why you

held my hands with pleading eyes

at the door, wrapped me in cologne

longer and tighter than usual in the dark.

 

I couldn’t stay, stray away from home,

even if you’re lonely. But thank you

for the teenage blush back in the days,

while still blooming on paper.

 

I’ll see you later.

Someday, when you’re absently

flipping through new pages,  you’ll

bump into a different woman and reminisce.

 

Social Anxiety (part III)

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Thank you for the invitation.

But I must be leaving early.

They noticed the cracks

in my head the second I entered

the room. And you can do better

than a burden.