Tag: reject pile

i found you
three days after you died.
i walked into your office and
found you hunched over your desk,
your face deteriorating
into your coffee mug.

i picked you up and threw you
over my shoulder.
your knuckles dragged on the sidewalk
the entire walk home.

we wrapped you
in all your favorite scarves and
put you in a coffin
filled with salt-water taffy.
while they sang ‘der voghormia,’ i growled,
and the sky echoed me.

i growled
at your scarves and your
salt-water taffy and your
face. for the first time
in years, you looked peaceful.
i growled and growled until they
started shoveling the dirt in.

the sky boomed on the drive home.
i saw your face in the windshield,
contorted into a sneer, your eyes
glazed over, your nostrils flared.

your face in the ground,
so pale, so silent, so peaceful.
so peaceful.

der voghormia // a.s.m

you were eleven
pounds of limbs when
i scooped you into my arms
beneath the flickering
yellow lights that reflected
off urine-stained linoleum.
i thought i was rescuing you. 

that night as you walked
into the apartment
for the first time, i wasn’t
thinking about paris or
the lust in my veins
(the lust pumping out of
my heart). you cried,
scurrying into a corner
when i accidentally stepped
on your paw. i feared you
wouldn’t let me near you again.
you were so slow to let
the hair on your back go
down. 

the days are getting longer,
the skies bluer, and i am
dreaming of paris
again. you follow me
to the bathroom, waiting
patiently outside the door.
you follow me throughout
the house. wherever i am,
your eyes are there. brown 
and gold nebulas. 

we fall asleep
and i feel your heartbeat against
my feet. i want to squeeze you
so hard sometimes. 
twenty five pounds, 
you are an anchor following
me around. i can hear
london calling me now.

where do i go 
to escape your eyes, 
little lamb?
what have i done, falling
in love long before
i have seen the world; 
making home in twenty five
pounds of limbs and
pawprints in the snow?

will your eyes follow me
to london and paris? to cobblestone
cities and languages 
i have yet to learn? 

your small heart an anchor
at my feet, mine is filled 
with a lust to see every inch
of the Earth’s skin.

little lamb // a.s.m

write it all down.
pour your mind on the paper–
all of it:
every passing
thought
every hiccup
every mistake
every “i can’t believe…”
every disaster
every painful memory.
put it all on the lines.
and when you’ve squeezed your sponge dry,
take a wet brush and paint
the words into colors
shapes
noises
textures.

How to Write A Poem // a.s.m