this autumn sunset

[UNSET]
is a little hell going down.
A sad necessary
burn, a cigarette
snuffed in a distant hour.

The tinge grows over me slowly,
for days,
a sneaky-bitch-slow

who swears love
is the same as the moon,

that comes and goes. she goes.

::

for Real Toads

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I’ve got these

four words rattling inside
my head, but the crickets
are too loud.

Never quiet,
unless you eat them.

My other words are stars,
traffic, and sundown.

::

4 from a word list submitted to Twiglet

Sick for home

Why the hell have I eaten
All the pretty posey words?
I should have asked consent
To touch their leafiness,
Made them bashful friends

Now they are mere shadows
In my throat, a dissolution
Of ferns I once beheld in
Dumb youth; a good green
I found and wanted to stroke

As if a smooth hand
Mirror, a real glass thing
Which pains me greatly now
In my larynx, as I choke it down
An empty voice, a glaring vision

::

for Real Toads
{this makes my 1,000th post. anybody tired of ’em?}

thinking heart

sleeping/hair washing/dressing/cooking
— the creak of maintenance consumes me
when all i really want is to create a lost
unicorn love out of a voracious lust i have
for a greater light to betray my darkness
— here i am, hair splayed on a pillow place

::

44 for dVerse

You’re a ghost to me

I’m not bound

By blood love

Or briars any more

Than I owe you

Ear rent

To a whisper love

Licking, licking

Burning

::

Combining two Real Toad prompts

I have Mr. Kolasny to thank for this confirmed love of self and dictionaries

Mr. Kolasny calls me
conceited, —
I’m a sixth grader

So I look it up
in the dictionary,
and imagine that’s how I’ll grow
into it,

While thinking
“Well, I never…”
Who do you think
you are?

Grown ass man
all uppity about
a singular skinny girl

**I distrust myself even more
knowing
what solipsism means

::

55 for Hedge

Still holding

the conversation

between my jeweled fingers,

i think of age

before beauty, and

the way you say

we could go indigo

or navy…

before pulling me in-

to the thick-of-it

forest.

to hell with the blues.

::

Twiglet & Real Toads

My decent woman

My decent

woman distills me

her swollen

river sighs, –

blurring any language

which smacks not of rain.

::

for Real Toads

for the best

be grateful i don’t
rehearse what scares you

hell, i don’t even know
what it is myself

that causes your heart
to go into cardiac
distress

beneath your
live strong t-shirt

,that crap i’m sorry for
from the bottom
of my peachy pie
bottoms

would you ever
tie pleas on a string
in the dark?

::

55 for Hedge

 

to the hours

it’s easy for me
being a woman
to quip about dying
to be cruel and
disconnect my home phone
to say the kids are old enough
to, to..
to what the hell is resignation?
to what the hell is courage?
my teats have all been
sucked beyond salvage,
so why is it cruel to smear
lipstick on top?
to ask to be buried
in a yellow dress
with shiny buttons?
to begin again

::

an odd one for Real Toads