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Devon 09-17-2011 01:01 AM

MC Voting Thread #1
Please vote for your favorite Members' Choice piece (one piece, one vote).

Thank you!

Devon 09-17-2011 01:02 AM

Sex on the Table - Grace Gabriel
Sex On The Table

He spooned Banoffee, whilst she nursed a coffee
The candle had cringed into stalactites
His hand warmed her thigh, as he loosened his tie
He'd trade her three courses for conjugal rights.

His scrutiny searing, she fingered her earring
Her other hand toyed with the hem of her dress
He thought of her arse, as he cradled his glass
His thumb gave the crystal a slow, damp caress.

He sat, legs akimbo, his lust hung in limbo
Aroused by the business and pleasure mix
Arms folded across her, rebuffing the offer
Her ankles locked tight in a crucifix.

Through blatant suggestion, the unspoken question
Was served before them to taste and to touch
Her voice, strong and terse, as she slapped down her purse
She declared the game over with:"We're going Dutch".

Devon 09-17-2011 01:02 AM

Imaginary - Lurking Darkness
By: J. R. Liske

“Who you talking to in here?”

“My friend, Aaron.”

She walked into Nick’s room and sat on his bed. Nick sat on the ground, a Monopoly board laid out in front of him. Green, red, blue, and yellow money lay scattered in front of him. She brushed his hair with her hand.

“Who’s Aaron?” she asked.

“A friend.”

“Can I talk to Aaron?”

“No. He only talks to me.” Nick sorted his Monopoly money into neat stacks, “He doesn’t like talking to anyone else. He’s kinda shy.” He smiled up at his mother.

“How long have you two been friends?”

“Not too long. I met him one day when I was playing in the woods out back.”

Sharon pointed to an empty spot of carpet.

“Is he sitting there?”

Nick glanced at where his mother was pointing and shook his head.

“He’s hiding right now,” Nick said. “He’s shy, ‘member?”

“Of course he is.” She said.

She brushed his hair again and looked around the room. It was brightly lit by the afternoon sun. Toys lay scattered and clothes sat bunched in the far corner. Drawings new and old hung from the light blue walls. The bed was covered with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck and the sheet underneath revealed a bloodthirsty Tasmanian Devil.

All of this will be gone soon, she thought to herself.

Nick was ten years old, and most ten year olds had already lost interest in toys and drawings and imaginary friends. Nick, however, still seemed to be quite intrigued by these things. And Sharon was glad. It’s hard seeing your child grow out of the things he loves.

It’s hard seeing them grow up.


Sharon jumped at his voice. He was looking up at her.

“Can you make me some lunch?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow and stared at him.

“Please?” he added.

She smiled and kissed his head.

“Sure bud. I just need to check on your sister first. Did you hear her crying at all?”

“No,” he said, still sorting his money.

“Okay, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

She ruffled his short brown hair and left. Sharon stood outside the door, listening.

Nothing. Not even a whisper. She sighed and started down the hallway.

Nick waited until her footfalls sounded down the hallway.

“You can come out now.”

She fixed up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured a glass of milk. She set them on the dining table in the adjacent room and went back to the kitchen. The sun reflected off the metallic appliances, striking. While cleaning, she thought about Nick. He seemed to be getting better but it appeared to her that his condition was hiding. Concealed beneath the surface, slowly making itself known.

“Nick, lunch!”

That’s over now.
The doctor said there is nothing to worry about. There will be no
problems. Everything is just fine.
She shivered.

“Nick, come and eat!”


“Nick?” she called.

Her voice echoed off the walls, and the silence that followed was one that truly haunted her. She stood at the counter, cold and scared. But why was she scared? What was she to be afraid of? It’s her
son. She loved him to death but beneath that love lingered a terror that only a mother could feel. The kind of fear that keeps women up in the night, holding back screams. The fear of knowing the child they bear inside of them is sick. Knowing at any minute something horrible can happen. They can feel it. A sick nausea creeps through their body, leaving them fear-stricken and vulnerable.


Was that the right word? Sharon thought about it and decided it was.

She rounded the counter, sat in a chair, and wept. She wept not just because of Nick, but because she knew she couldn’t put up with it anymore. Not by herself. Before Gregg died, everything was better. Nick was
happy. There were no night terrors, no sleepwalks, no imaginary friends. They were a family. But that all changed when Gregg was killed in a car accident two months before Bella was born. Gregg wasn’t much of a drinking man but the man who hit him sure was. Gregg was found thirty feet away from his car, his face shredded by the jagged asphalt. Sharon was alone. And Nick got worse.

“Nick, what’re you doing?”

She tried to make her voice smooth but failed. She sat at the counter, waiting for an answer and getting none. Sharon stood, walked to the stairs, and listened. She couldn’t hear much of anything. The grandfather clock in the living room to her right ticked and tocked steadily, but the silence between drove her mad. Her ears rang with the spaced silence, her fear growing like the sick beginning of a virus. She took a deep breath, and climbed the first step.

As she reached the top steps, she noticed Nick’s door was wide open and the spot where he sat, thoughtfully counting his Monopoly money, was vacant. She looked in room, noticing the money had been shuffled into a random pile. She checked her own room first, searching through the closet and bathroom.

She found nothing.

Sharon went back into the hallway. Where in the hell could he be hiding?
Why was he hiding? The nauseating fear lingered into her stomach, pinching and clawing, making her cringe. And then, through the silence, she heard what sounded like a giggle.

Sharon froze, the fear that was set in her stomach released, seeming to poison her. She drew in a harsh breath and held it. Her flesh broke into prickly bumps and the bones in her legs turned to Jell-O. Her heart thundered in her chest, like the fast, irregular beat of a hollow drum.

“N-Nick?” her voice broke. Her legs found their will to move and she walked into his bedroom. Nothing was different but it felt
lighter. Everything was exactly the same, yet the room had an easier feel to it. A feeling of comfort that lifted some of the fear from her heart. But there also lingered a sense of heaviness. Not there anymore, but did indeed linger, like the smell of a cigarette which had been smoked a few minutes prior. It was gone, but its ghost crept.

And through the silence sounded another giggle, louder than before. Sharon gasped and if she hadn’t grabbed onto Nick’s bed, she would’ve tumbled backwards. Her eyes snapped to the closed closet door, knowing whatever sat behind it was listening and grinning. Sweat perspired on her forehead in heavy beads and her breath became quick. Her eyes, green and wide, studied the door.

“Nick, c-come out right now.”


“Nick, please come out here!” she yelled, begging and near tears.

Seconds passed without movement or sound. A scream sat in her throat, ready and on-edge. Something was in that closet.
Something that fed off the fear of grown men and women, like their own personal Boogeyman. Monsters do exist and they’re different than rapists and killers and terrorists. Monsters, begin to come in the form of things people love. Be it their spouse, their family, their children.

The doorknob began turning, creaking in protest.

Sharon’s blood boiled and iced, sending terrifying chills through her body. The scream trapped in her throat was ready to burst out, and it took everything in her to keep it in.

The door creaked open, and through the darkness out walked Nick.

“Nick!” she cried, “Jesus Christ, you scared me half to death!”

“Sorry Mom.” Nick looked at his shoes.

Sharon found the courage to let go of the bed-spread and walked to her son.

“Why were you in the closet?”

“Me and Aaron were playing hide and seek.” He smiled, “He’s not very good at it.”

Sharon smiled at him, masking her terror.

“I was calling you. Your lunch is ready.”

“Thanks Mom.” He said, and hugged her.

She hugged him back.

Sharon watched him leave, the terror still flowing in her blood. She shut his closet door and left. She was halfway down the stairs when she felt a draft. She stopped and felt the wind glide over her skin. She went back up the stairs, stopping at the top step. The bathroom and master bedroom doors were shut, but the last door on the left stood wide open, exposing a bright pink room.

She walked into the room and studied it closely. Everything was in its place but the window above Bella’s crib was standing wide open. The curtains blew inward then outward, inward then outward. Sharon didn’t remember opening her window, but she must have.

“Oh, are you a little chilly Be—”

In the crib lay Bella, on her back with her little head turned slightly to the side. Something was different. No one but Sharon would’ve spotted the flaw, but for some odd reason, it
terrified her. Bella never slept on her back.

“B-Bella,” Sharon picked up her daughter, and when she did, Bella’s head lolled loosely.

“Come ‘on baby, don’t scare Momma.”

She held her daughter in front of her and shook her a little. Bella’s head jerked forward and fell back into that loose, rubbery loll.

“Bella, hon-honey?”

Bella’s head rolled to the side and cold, bloody drool dripped from her mouth. Dark purple bruises were visible on Bella’s neck, in the shape of hands.

Small hands.

Sharon’s breath stopped in her throat, and the terror that immersed her left her in a state of catatonic shock. She stared at the corpse of her daughter, literally feeling her sanity slip away.

Another chill crept through the window, bringing with it the echoes of the woods. It carried a sound which would make any other person smile, but to Sharon, it was truly horrifying.

A child’s laughter.

Sharon began to scream.

Devon 09-17-2011 01:04 AM

Still - ZenithOClock
In the cool, small morning
I grow into the darkness.
Out, past the soft swells of traffic
and far away planes,
past wind whipped trees
to the sleepy suburbs of my senses.

Where dog-bark bows

play strings of thin air
as night owls and early-birds
pass near dew-damp hedges,
their mumbled greetings softened
by distance.

In the cool, small morning

I grow into the darkness
and I am,

Devon 09-17-2011 01:05 AM

Untitled - medusapath
My secret was that I had taken them all for myself. Every last one of those blue gel pills was secured in the small tin can, rattling in my backpack as I ran through the trails. He would notice, I was sure, but till then, who cared? I had gotten more. I had the power, now, to cross the threshold.

I found a tree with a large base, soft and plentiful grass inviting me to sit on it. I sank in the ground, breathing heavily, eyes glued to the sky. Would he find me here? And if he did, so what? I would be tripping by then.

I shook the black bag underneath me and heard the pills rattling around in the can, a psychedelic Macarena. My heart skipped a beat – it’s that craving, you know. The world seemed to fragment for a moment, the tiniest shift that I could detect with my entheogenic memory. That other world, other presence was vibrating underneath me, and I wanted to revisit it.

I swallowed a pill. Then another. Now, if I swallowed three, I would have exceeded my personal maximum dosage. These were dense capsules, so an extra was no light addendum. But I remembered the fading golden trail last time, the absolute inability to muster any more cosmic energy to further my wide-eyed tripping ghost into the realm of understanding, of a message, of meaning. They wanted to
show me something. I was not properly equipped. Now I was.

I swallowed the last pill.
That’s it, I thought. It’s diffused in my system. A bird chirped. The sun still blared. Nothing had changed, yet. Knowing I had the key inside me though, it felt good. Real good. I was like a walking bomb, timed to erupt into a series of magical and life-altering labyrinths. Of course, what any passerby would see would be a dazed young girl with long auburn hair, droopy brown eyes, bemused and fascinated by each natural object existing in front of her. I would be an unintelligible chest of secrets.

Now I had to deal with a small stretch of anxiously drawn out time. I had to hope the nervousness of getting caught dissipated with the rising high. Otherwise that would be a cocktail for a panicked disaster. Those were the sorts of risks I was willing to take in order to get to the other world.

I lied on my back and stared up at the sky, which was always beautiful to me between the maze of bark and leaves. I squinted, letting my vision blur into a kaleidoscopic mess of blue, green, and golden beams. My limbs twitched, and the familiar tickle began to stir in my belly. But it was too soon; my imagination was getting ahead of me.

I hopped up, and stretched my limbs to disseminate the nervous tension. I jogged in place, did jumping jacks, punched the air lightly a few times. I hated this part, the waiting. I almost wished he would show up and give me enough distraction before the high set in. I was sure that in that half hour, I could appeal to his sympathies, promise him the money, and explain just how dire my situation was. I’d tell him how I saw the divine threshold, how alien deities embraced each surface of my exposed and quivering soul matter – how I saw my the topography of my bodies thermal activity, glowing magnificently – how I was gilded in cosmic benedictions, shedding skin endlessly until I was but a thread of gossamer string, a piece of threadwork in the quilted universal enigma. And how I was so close to receiving a message that would transmute seamlessly through the dimensions, but lacked the chemical impetus, that extra secret coding that transferred my brain waves from the mundane to the insane.

I imagined his face, smirking despite his anger. He would scoff at my “psycho babble,” and I could hear it already:
Knock it off with that shit, kid, it takes a lot more that just popping a few pills to get any real understanding. But he was wrong – it didn’t. He was hanging on to some artificial concepts of ethics and work: the idea that true meaning or understanding could only come from hard work, and nothing meaningful could come from something easy. But I found it hard to believe that the objective reality of things was concerned with making a judgment call on individual self-discipline – these concepts were merely of our own making to make sense of our own lives, and while they did prove useful in some contexts, they weren’t required for others.

And besides, tripping was not easy. Many succumbed to fear, and many could not manage to give in to the drug, to treat it like an entity rather than a subordinate chemical that they had power over. Others used it as an escape, but let their nihilistic preconceptions deter them from any real unification with the drug, like Jed. Jed had the kind of steel cynicism that managed to keep even a sliver of a wall up in the midst of a euphoric MDMA-induced trance. Cuddle piles, unity, peace and love, sure, but remember:
we’re just enjoying a drug. Well I took the drug as more than that, as another level of experience, another cognitive lens, interchangeable with my default setting, which was no more real than any other ones I could buy.

Of course, there were times were I detached myself from my core, let a strand of rationality disengage and hover over me for a second, saying:
What a fucking nutter! Get a job, do something useful, ya bum. I suppose this was like my second parent. Second, because I only had one parent, or perhaps half a parent, if you want to look at it that way. My father died in a motorcycle accident before I was born, and my mother was a scientist, loving but definitely existing on the more autistic end of the spectrum. I think my mental parent was harder on me than she was.

There was a tingling in the base of my spine. My face flushed, and my mouth spread into a wide, uncontrolled grin. I envisioned the pill’s cerulean color, the magnitude of its depth like the ocean, overcoming my body, whose shell was equally nominal compared to the massive intelligent enterprise underneath. I walk, watching my knee high black boots, conceptualizing the intricate lacing that weaved in and out through the eyelets: so simple, and so perfect. Small mathematical precisions were everywhere. A wave rolled smoothly up and down my body. I reached into my bag and pulled out my studio headphones. They fit snugly over my ears, and I clicked the power button on the side of the right phone, and held it down.

“Vibes of paradise,” I sang. The headphones whirred for a few moments, and then the lush bass reverberated through my head, amplifying the wave. The drums set in, and that was all I needed to feel on top of the world: a good beat, sunlight, and sensory galvanization. If Jed were to show up, I would just smile and spread my arms, casting my glow on him, and then he’d have to understand. Things would be okay.

The trees seemed to part as I strolled through them. The sun was iridescent; it seemed to be laughing, congenially, as if to say,
you never knew I looked like this? But I did know, I had seen it before, and it was like reentering a dream world, realizing that yes, things have appeared this way once before. The sensation of flying while one’s feet are firmly planted on the ground: this is a sure sign of coming up. You begin to feel lust, but you realize that lust is much more than a base desire. Lust is transcendental. Lust is a tremulous shiver that binds you to the heavens.

About an hour into the trip, the peak was fully revved, stable, not going anywhere anytime soon. I had reached maximum potential, maximum speed – anything could happen now. I could keep my eyes open and transform the world around me, or I could close my eyes and escape my body; the choice was mine to make. I decided to explore the latter, in hopes of returning to the same place I had been before. I worried that this was only a theoretical possibility, but I tried to ignore the doubt. Doubt becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy when tripping in a controlled environment, but out here in the woods, I had to have my wits about me, while at the same time, paradoxically control my ability to lose all control. I had to give in to the drug with the trust that my latent ego would activate itself immediately if need be.

I found a hidden path, one with a decent amount of undergrowth. This would be fine. I lied back, and commenced the spiral as soon as I shut my eyes.

Plummet upwards, that’s right, up is down and falling is flying and soaring is diving and crying is laughing and seeing is believing. The clouds part but they’re worlds apart, and I can see it all because my scope of vision has been stretched like an elastic band, infinitely tensing itself, vibrating with the intensity of a rapidly oscillating sine wave. Geometric patterns and textured coils traverse the crossways of my optical horizon, and a chorus begins in my head, gauzy butterfly, mellifluous stream of syrupy powder, the militant bass line, marching around and around my universe, merging and purging to draw the infinite ribbons, the color of which no one knows the name of. Petals bloom and duplicate like butterflies, psychedelic platitudes hold the deepest wells of meaning, and valleys shed the sun-burnt snow to show the-


You came prepared.


Yes. I am that which you conceive of. You’ve succeeded in your mission.

I didn’t realize it would be so easy…

It won’t be. You will be granted something higher than you can imagine.

Why me?

You chose it.


Open your eyes.

I opened my eyes as instructed.


I raised my finger to the sky, and traced a circle. There was a faint glimmer, and then nothing. I frowned. Raising my finger again, I pictured, in my mind’s eye, a deep blue, like indigo. My finger felt as though it was bleeding all of a sudden, but my body was not shaken at all. From my finger, which slowly delineated a long loop, came an indigo thread of vibrant string, echoing my shaky motion. It stayed there, just as I had placed it, beaming at me. I lowered my hand slowly, still gaping at what I had just drawn. It stared back at me, almost humming with a sweet frequency.

“Oh my god,” I said. My words felt prophetic. The bass taunted me in my peripheral. A momentous feeling surged through my right arm. I lifted it, clenched my hand into a tight fist, and slid it through the purple ring. I lowered my arm, slowly, watching the indigo ring, eyes locked with the viscous cosmic paint, until it was directly in line with me.

I sat up slowly. My bulging eyes did not escape the circle. I brought my left thumb and forefinger to it, and gave it a soft squeeze. It gave in to the pressure of my fingers, but as soon as I let go, it snapped back into a perfect, untouched state, sending light waves ripple through it on either side. I slid it up my arm, feeling a shiver ebb through my body as it fit snugly to my skin.

“Ay!” The voice barely cut through the music, but head spun around instantly. I could make out Jed’s spiky hair wobbling over the branches.

“Crap,” I muttered, pulling my headphones off my ears. But the euphoria in my chest was still there. I smiled. Good drug. Brave drug. I laughed inwardly. I stood up and rubbed my eyes in an effort to look nonchalant.

“Hiiiiii,” I drawled. He emerged from in between two large bushes as I said this. His dorky Hawaiian-print button-up matched with khakis and hiking boots, all this underneath a face twisted in parental frustration, silver rings shining brilliantly in his septum and eyebrow, made my knees give out beneath me. I was doubled over in laughter.

“You’re a fuck, you know that?” he said. He walked towards me and I nimbly rolled away and sprang up, maneuvering my body into a myriad of ridiculous made-up ninja positions.

“Do not approach me. I will end you.” I gave him my most sinister grin, and then erupted once again in laughter. I couldn’t help it.

“You keep taking too much of this shit. It’s not about the money, you know that, you’re fucking frying your brain. Will you lay off it a bit?” I imagined his words bouncing off my ears like they were trampolines, jumping in a frenzy, never entering my head.

“Oh, please, oh please. Not now Jed. I’m too deep into this to give a shit right now. Don’t be a mood killer. Please,” I begged. I wrapped my arms around him tightly and did my best monkey impression. I felt him loosen up beneath me.

“Ok little monkey. Ok. Just get off of me, it’s hot as fuck.” I released my grip and let out a howl aimed for the heavens. Would it reach them? I pondered my voice, traveling up high, like digital data soaring through the air, reaching some angelic sentinel leaning back lazily against a golden gate.

“How much did you take?” he asked, lying on the ground next to where I had collapsed.

I held up three fingers.

“Forehead, meet palm,” I said, as he did just that.

“Dammit Rory, three? This shit is potent as FUCK. You’re too coherent to have taken three. You trip hasn’t been any different?”

Like a tsunami, it hit me. How could I have forgotten? Incredible. Just five minutes ago.

“Yes. Yes!” I scrambled upright quickly. “Something incredible happened.” His face was not matching my enthusiasm.

“No no no no,” I said, pummeling my fists into the ground. “Listen! Take me seriously! This is serious news! Seriousness!”

“Till you say it, I’m not taking you seriously. Go.” Jed stared at me unflinchingly, waiting.

“Well, so… I was having… my mind was going crazy, ya know. Words, thoughts, jumbly mumbo. Fun stuff. Um and then, and then…. Oh yeah! This voice! It, like, interrupted me! I know that’s not out of the ordinary, hallucinating voices, but this voice was like no other, Jed, I’m telling you. And it like… told me that I was prepared… I succeeded? Um… fuck…” I tapped my forehead violently with my finger. I caught his gaze, which was a little too patient, too composed. I had to get to the point, quickly.

“And then, I fucking, I drew this…. This thing in the air. With my finger! This circle! It was like, I was painting with my finger! Painting man, I was creating shit out of thin air. And I wore it like a bracelet and everything!” When I realized this was the end of the story, it dawned on me how utterly ridiculous it was. Pure psychedelic bullshit. Jed should be laughing right about now.

But Jed wasn’t laughing. He was staring at me with a serious look on his face. “Rory,” he said. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Uh, no? Yeah, that’s a great make-believe story, I created a fucking imaginary bracelet. I’m being dumb and I know it. Taking hallucinations too seriously.” I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, like I always do when I’m feeling stupid or silly.

Under my left hand, I felt something warm and smooth. I looked down at my upper arm. There was the purple bracelet, shining magnificently, wondrously.

“You see that?” I asked him.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice still not showing any sort of emotion. “Now, Rory, I can usually read you like a book, and it doesn’t seem like you’re lying, but fuck, this is a little too crazy. You did not just draw that bracelet with your finger, did you? Tell me you bought it at some shitty jewelry stand off 9th avenue.”

I shook my head sincerely. “Honest,” I said softly. “I made it. Like the voice told me to. I just can’t believe you see it. You sure you’re not on something…?” I was beginning to feel skeptical of everything, like Jed. He held his hand up.

“I’m not. I had a shot or two of scotch. I’m sober, Ror.”

I widened my eyes, and giddiness bubbled in my chest. I felt my own natural euphoria combine with the drug’s manic presence.

“Jed! Jed. This is
insane.” I grabbed his hand. I saw him trying to fight off a smile. He was chewing his lip forcefully, staring into this distance.

“Let’s just wait till you’re sober and then we’ll talk about it,” he finally said.

“Oh that’s right. I’m not sober. Hah!” I suddenly became aware of the music beating away mercilessly just underneath my chin. I felt the drug more than ever in that instant. Its powerful waves of liberation just a daydream away tempted me with every heartbeat.

“I shall retreat back to trip world. I’ll see you in a bit, captain.” I crossed my eyes, stuck out my tongue, and saluted him. Jed pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, still chewing his lower lip like a fiend.

“I’ll be waiting here kid. Have fun.”

I put the headphones back on, sank back into the ground, and let the music overwhelm me while I closed my eyes and drifted into incomprehensible, inscrutable, beautiful worlds.

Devon 09-17-2011 01:06 AM

Prince of Juniper and Tenth - JoeMatt
janky ruled under the bridges
by the oil can fires at twighlight
in corrugated castles, singing
atonal hymns of saints imagined

a saw-toothed grin, a wool-crowned glance

a chance to spew some cross-eyed wisdom
delivering end-time proclamations
from his broken concrete throne

janky graced the gutters, stumbling

mumbling with his begging chalice
clutching brown bagged forty-ouncers
marching sideways through the suits

now shadows fall on janky’s corner

beside the empty piss-stained mattress
a schizophrenic mongrel mimics
his muttered rhymes and cracked-lip smile

beneath his shroud of polyvinyl

fluorescent green on stainless steel
an empty prayer recited swiftly
for the prince of juniper and tenth

Devon 09-17-2011 01:07 AM

Tracing - Baywriter

We drove over paper maps and pulled
our fingernails along the lines to remember
how we got from corner to corner.
We made campfires with words,
watched them get hot and jump on our skin.
That road we took was cut up in dead ends,
and we pocketed back roads
because you were never sure.

Your face on the way was chipped,
a fragment at every stop to remind us
that we had missed nothing.
Gasoline sap coming out of broken trees
with kerosene leaves, all the grass
was like charred fingers under our feet,
because we took everything.

A gathering of mud brought stampedes
from our lips to the wrinkled rocks.
Folds from missteps. Folds from perfect footing.
And the grime gripped when we made our fire
that night. We needed to be kindling, permanent
and dry. You said skin was good for peeling
because we’re so tender underneath.

I watched you dismember your body
until you were just clusters of crumbles
scattered on the side of the street.
We made the world fit for roadkill
to inhale slowly in premeasured pieces
because you needed me to carry you.

I like to go tracing over continents
and highway forest fires,
or wherever you left those faces and fragments.
The road we took was paper on fire,
and my fingernails are filed down to the skin
because I tried to go back again.

Devon 09-17-2011 01:08 AM

Warrior - Nick Pierce
Pete was a big guy. Big and blond. He was home from Viet Nam for a little rest and relaxation.

It was 1968 and a bunch of us were up in a Pennsylvania attic bedroom sittin' on mattresses, listenin' to Jimi Hendrix and smoking from a bag that had been lost and found ( A few months ago it had been tossed out a car window for safety. Disappeared. No one thought to look in the roadside tree until today).

Spiders are crawling from the bag as we roll. Some folks are complaining about this.

In the smoky haze a voice asks Pete what it's like over there.

I'm thinkin' downer of a question.

After a moment Pete says "You go into a village, from the corner of your eye you see a kid runnin' up on ya with something in his hand. You blow him away. Then you look to see if he was holding a candy bar wrapper or a grenade".

After that no one complained about the spiders.

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